


The Change

by scarletmanuka



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I can't not have a happy ending, M/M, Sibling Incest, Vampire Mycroft, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11975955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/pseuds/scarletmanuka
Summary: Sherlock is pulled from a lecture one day to be told that Mycroft is in hospital. Deciding to put their differences aside, he offers to look after him and in doing so discovers the truth behind his brother's strange injuries and his clandestine role with the British Government.





	1. Let Me Assist You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGlinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/gifts).



Jaw cracking, Sherlock yawned widely, not bothering to hide it from his place at the back of the lecture theatre. It was all horribly dull but he had promised Mycroft he would make an effort to attend classes. Their parents had begged their eldest child to speak to his younger brother before they had left to go cruising in Alaska, worried that he would fail out of university. Sherlock was at no risk of failing as he did exceptionally well in all of his exams, but there was a component of his grades that was dependant on his attendance. His brother hadn’t gotten mad, hadn’t yelled, or pleaded, didn’t cajole or bribe - all he’d had to do was look at Sherlock with disappointment and say that he hoped he would do apply himself better in future. Since Sherlock worshipped the ground Mycroft walked on, that had been all it had taken for him to begin attending his lectures once again.

The relationship he had with his brother was difficult to say the least. They had been close as children since no one else could challenge them quite like each other, but then Mycroft had grown up. He had gone off to attend university and when he returned, he looked at Sherlock like he was a one of the slow masses. No matter how much Sherlock tried to dazzle him with his latest experiments and scientific discoveries, or how he would tear apart the neighbours with his deductions, or constantly come top of his class, Mycroft remained unimpressed. He would still ruffle Sherlock’s curls and give him a thin lipped smile, but then say in a rather condescending tone, “Well done, brother dear.” And that would be it. No jubilant conversations to analyse his victories, no recounting of Mycroft’s own similar experiences, no commiserating over how stupid everyone else seemed to be in relation to themselves. Just vague disdain and then Mycroft would shut himself away and concentrate on his work.

It hurt Sherlock more than he would ever admit, this rejection by the one person he adored most in the world. He began to retaliate by being waspish and curt, by making jibes about his brother’s weight whenever they had tea and Mycroft reached for a biscuit, and by pretending not to care. Of course, nothing he did seemed to temper his hero worship of his brother. He was immensely proud of Mycroft and would brag about his accomplishments to students he went to school, and then university with. No matter how much he ached inside, desperately longing to be accepted and adored in return by his brother, he couldn’t resent him, or hate him. Mycroft was the one person in the world who could understand him, even if for some reason, he was choosing not to right now.

The lecture droned on, and Sherlock wasn’t the only person who was falling asleep. He was just losing the will to keep his eyes open when the door to the hall opened and an older woman with a pink scarf wrapped around her neck and horrible matching pink shoes entered. Every eye in the room stared at her, and there was suddenly an undercurrent of worry. Classes generally weren’t disturbed by the administration unless someone was getting bad news. She spoke quietly with the lecturer, and every ear strained, wondering who would be the poor bastard to be called to the front. The lecturer - Mr Jeffries? Jefferson? Johnston? - then turned to the class, seemingly not noticing the edge to the atmosphere.“Mr Holmes, your presence is required,” he announced, eyes searching out Sherlock in the crowd.

He packed up his things and walked down to the front of the hall, ignoring the pitying looks sent his way. It must be something to do with his parents, an accident of some kind. His mind started flipping through all the possible scenarios as he followed the lady in pink outside of the lecture hall. He wondered where Mycroft was - if it was really bad, he’d be here to tell him, wouldn’t he? Or perhaps he was caught up in one of his secret missions that he thought Sherlock didn’t know about and wasn’t available? He started to panic, wondering what sorts of things he’d need to do. Would arrangements need to be made to fly his parents home? Or to have care in the States? Would he need to contact the Embassy? He didn’t know what he had to do - it was always Mycroft who was better at these situations.

They walked a little way down the covered walkway outside of the hall, stopping in front of a long, sloping lawn that overlooked a structured garden. Sherlock tried to calm his thoughts, knowing it was pointless worrying until he knew what there was to worry about, but unable to quite control his mind. “What’s happened?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” she began, her voice as pitying as the looks his classmates had given him. “Your brother has been injured and is in hospital. They’ve been unable to reach your parents and you’re next on the list to be notified.”

He stared at her for a long moment, unable to compute what she was saying. “Sorry, what?”

She bit her lip, uncomfortable at having to break the news. “Your brother, Mycroft, is in hospital. We’ve called you a cab, it’ll be here shortly.”

“Oh.”

Time seemed to pass then without his knowledge and suddenly he was being deposited in front of a large, dreary looking hospital. The cab drove off so he must have paid the driver, but he had no recollection of it. He made his way inside, croaking out his brother’s name to the woman on the reception desk. She directed him to the fifth floor and he soon found himself standing in the doorway to a small room, packed with beeping machines, and muted flashing lights. Mycroft lay on the bed, buried beneath monitors, and tubes, and bandages. There was no one in sight, so he couldn’t ask what had happened, and the pale figure of his brother looked to be unconscious. Sherlock took a few hesitant steps into the room, his eyes locked on Mycroft’s face. He was as white as a sheet, his freckles showing up darker than normal, and his lips were a pale pink. The capillaries in his eyelids were a dark blue beneath the almost translucent skin, and his eyes flickered beneath them. 

He trailed his gaze downwards, taking in the bruised and broken body. Mycroft was shirtless, but large bandages were wound around his neck and shoulders. His torso was a mottled collection of blacks, blues, and purples, and one arm was in a cast. Sherlock sank into the chair beside the bed and reached out a hand, his fingertips only just connecting with Mycroft’s uncasted hand. Immediately, Mycroft’s eyes flew open, wild and scared looking, and Sherlock pulled back his hand, holding it up placatingly. “It’s just me,” he assured him softly.

“Sherlock?” he gasped, his eyes searching the room, looking for danger. 

“Hey, you’re safe, calm down.” He reached out again, slowly, and giving Mycroft time to see what he intended. When it didn't look like he would flinch away, Sherlock took his hand in his own, careful not to dislodge the O2 monitor from his pointer finger. “What happened?” he asked.

There was a brief flicker of fear behind Mycroft’s eyes and then they shuttered, blocking all his internal emotions from sight. “I was attacked whilst working. I’m fine.”

The younger brother raised a brow, indicating he didn’t believe him in the slightest. He reached forward his hand and touched the bandages lightly. “You look like you’re half mummified so I don’t believe  _ fine _ is the word you’re looking for.” He wanted to ask what he would see if he peeled back the bandages, would have done if this were five years previously, but the distance between them was too great now for him to be so candid. Instead they fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence, neither quite knowing what to say now. 

Mycroft eventually broke it by saying, “They needn’t have called you out of class for something so minor.”

“You would have come for me,” Sherlock replied simply.

“You should go back - I don’t want you missing more than necessary.”

“I have no more lectures today so I don’t need to be anywhere.”

“Still, there’s no point you being here.”

“Do you not want me here?” he asked, intending it to be sharp but instead it just came out sad.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” his brother hurried to assure him, a flicker of something Sherlock couldn’t read crossing his expression. “I just didn’t think you’d want to waste your time being here when you could be doing other things. I’ll be getting myself discharged soon and heading home anyway, so it’s not like I’ll be here for long.”

Sherlock made a decision then. “I don’t have any lectures tomorrow and then it’s the weekend so I’ll be coming to your place to look after you.”

“You’ll  _ what _ ?”

“I don’t believe your hearing has been impaired by your injuries.”

“But I don’t understand…”

“What’s so difficult about it? You’re injured and will require assistance. I shall give it.”

“But, you’re my brother…”

“And? I’m concerned your cognitive functions have been affected by whatever happened to you, which is even more cause for me to accompany you.”

“I just never imagined you to be a...caregiver.”

He rolled his eyes. “Perhaps if you hadn’t decided I was so far beneath you to warrant a moment of your time, then you would know me better?”

The pain that flickered across Mycroft’s eyes had nothing to do with his injuries. Sherlock regarded him for a long moment, wondering just what it was that his brother wasn’t telling him, but before he could demand answers, a doctor walked into the room. “Ah, Mr Holmes - you’re awake. Good to see. How about we have a look at you?”

The older brother’s eyes cut to Sherlock. “Can you arrange a cab, Sherlock? Once the doctor has finished his examination, I’ll be heading home.”

“What?” the doctor exclaimed. “You intend to discharge yourself?”

“Indeed.”

“I strongly recommend against that. With the extent of your injuries, you require constant monitoring - there’s no guarantee that the treatment will be effective.”

“I shall manage. Sherlock - a cab?”

It was obvious Mycroft didn’t want him to be there for the examination, but Sherlock thought it best not to argue at the moment. He was sure he could ferret out the answers once they were back at Mycroft’s house and although patience wasn’t a virtue of the genius, he could wait a short while more.

He made his way out of the ward down to the bank of telephones near the lifts and made the call to book a cab. On his way back, he saw the doctor walking out of his brother’s room, shaking his head and looking worried. Sherlock frowned, wondering just what was concerning the doctor. He had said something about a treatment, but what would that be in relation to? If it was just a beating that caused bruising and a broken wrist, there was nothing that could be done about that other than rest and time. He went into the room and saw his brother sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to pull his shirt on over the bandages. Sherlock hurried over to help him, gently tugging the material over his shoulder and then doing up the buttons with nimble fingers. 

“Thank you,” Mycroft said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

“The cab will be here in five,” Sherlock said. “Will you be okay to walk or shall I get a wheelchair?” The glare his brother directed at him made the younger man grin and he helped Mycroft to stand. His brother was wobbly on his feet, and Sherlock could feel his ribs as he wrapped an arm around him. When had Mycroft gotten so skinny? It seemed that it was no longer just Mycroft who didn’t know Sherlock anymore but the other way round as well. Perhaps a few days together would help to bridge the divide that was now between them?

They made it to the elevator without incident and were soon on the ground floor and making their way to the exit. Mycroft winced as they stepped outside, shielding his eyes. Sherlock wished he’d been able to sneak a glance at his file before they’d left, as it was looking more and more likely that his brother  _ had _ suffered a head injury. He made a mental note of his light sensitivity and vowed to be on the lookout for other symptoms. 

The cab arrived and Mycroft gave his address, a house he had moved into a year ago and somewhere Sherlock had yet to visit. He’d not been to Mycroft’s previous flat either, or the flat before that. Mycroft always came to visit his family at home, never inviting them to his. Sherlock made sure he suppressed the excitement that was building at finally getting to see Mycroft’s personal space, knowing it would give him an insight into his mind - the mind that had been closed off to the younger man for years now. When they pulled up in front of a semi-detached house with a neatly manicured hedge in a well off part of town, he wasn’t at all surprised. Mycroft was moving up in the world, staking his claim as the backbone of the government and it was fitting he would have an abode that reflected this. 

Sherlock helped Mycroft from the cab, and his brother leaned heavily on him as they walked up the path to the front door. He was worried that his brother was not only accepting the help, but couldn’t even seem to make the effort to hide just how much he  _ needed _ it. It was disconcerting since he had always been the stronger of the two, the one who never showed weakness, who was always in control. On the other hand, Sherlock felt pride swell inside him at being the one that Mycroft was allowing to support him.

After fumbling with the key, Mycroft relinquished it to Sherlock who unlocked the door. After turning off the alarm system, Mycroft gestured his brother inside and Sherlock followed him through into a sitting room. He drank in the room, taking note of the minimalistic decoration, the few luxuries, the impersonal feel. It was easy to deduce that Mycroft spent very little time here, and that it was almost an extension of his office; a safe place to take visitors. It was designed explicitly so whomever entered would be unable to get a read on the occupant. If he’d not been planning on staying for the next few days, Sherlock would be most upset if this was all he’d get to see. 

Mycroft had slumped into one of the armchairs, wincing in pain, and Sherlock perched on the edge of the couch. “Do you need anything?” he asked.

His brother gave him a small smile and shook his head, closing his eyes and resting it against the back of the chair. His next words shocked Sherlock, but at the same time made his heart swell with hope that perhaps his brother was not so removed as he’d made himself out to be.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

oOoOo

His pager beeped and Mycroft looked at it, seeing he would soon be having a visitor from the office. He sighed, but knew this was not unexpected. There were protocols in place after all. Sherlock had gone to find the kitchen to make tea, and Mycroft knew his brother would be deducing everything he could about him from his personal space. He would get little as Mycroft was so rarely at home that he his personality was barely stamped upon the place. It was comforting to have the younger man so close, but it also terrified him. He had distanced himself for so many years, trying to keep Sherlock safe, and now here he was, in the belly of the beast.

Mycroft reached up with his good hand and pressed tentatively at the bandages, pain shooting through him from the wounds underneath. His eyes closed and images flashed before him.  _ Figures circling, toying with him, darting forward, fangs and blood, so much blood _ . 

“You don’t have any milk so I hope black is okay.”

He was pulled from the memory by Sherlock’s voice and he opened his eyes, seeing the lanky young man hovering over him, his face full of concern. “Black is fine,” he managed to rasp out. His heart rate was elevated and he concentrated on his breathing, trying to get it down. He watched as Sherlock poured the tea from the pot, and his eyes trailed upwards, lingering on the pale column of throat, the long line of his neck. He jerked his eyes away, telling himself that he was being silly. Even if the treatment hadn’t worked, it was much too soon to be undergoing The Change. His fascination with his brother’s neck had nothing to do with the present situation, and everything to do with the fact that he had unnatural feelings for him. It was one of the reasons he’d accepted such a dangerous position with the government - he was so busy fighting to protect the innocent, to survive himself, that he had no time to dwell on the fact that he was in love with his little brother.

The little brother who was now here, alone with him, and leaning over to place the cup of tea on the end of the coffee table nearest him. The dark blue t shirt he wore gaped open at the neck as he leaned over, his pale skin in stark contrast with the dark material, and Mycroft forced his eyes to look away. His heart rate increased again but this time it wasn’t from the memories of his attack. “I’ll be receiving a visitor shortly,” he told him. “From work. We’ll need to speak alone so if you’ll be so kind as to wait upstairs when he arrives? The guest room will be yours for the duration of your stay and there’s bookshelves in my study next to my bedroom, so I’m sure you will have enough to keep you occupied while he’s here.”

Sherlock regarded him carefully and then nodded, sitting down and picking up his own tea. “I promise to keep out of your way.” He voice was full of sadness, and Mycroft’s heart broke at hearing it. He knew how much Sherlock looked up to him and it killed him when the younger man gave away how upset he was at the way Mycroft treated him nowadays.

“It’s simply because the matter is highly classified, Sherlock, not because I don’t want you around.”

His brother shrugged half heartedly. “If you say so.”

Mycroft rubbed at his eyes and sighed. He couldn’t do this anymore - hurting his brother deliberately to save himself from his disgraceful feelings. How could he claim to be in love with with him if he constantly caused him pain? Sherlock had done nothing to warrant such treatment, except be the unknowing recipient of Mycroft’s heart. It wasn’t fair to him and he needed to rectify the situation. “Sherlock, I’m sorry. I know I have treated you badly these past few years and I apologise for that.”

The younger man looked at him, his glorious eyes full of hope, but also wary. “Why? Why did you do it?”

He could never tell him the truth, not about his feelings, and not about the true nature of his work, but he could tell him some of it. “It was to keep you safe. The work I do - it’s highly dangerous and the less you saw of me, the safer you would be. I needed to stay away so there would be no risk to you.”

Sherlock considered this. “Yet, when you did see me, you treated me like I was one of  _ them _ ,” he spat, and Mycroft knew he was referring to the goldfish they were surrounded by. “You made me feel like I was so  _ dumb _ , like you were ashamed of me. Staying away, keeping your distance, I get that, but treating me as if I was something stuck to the bottom of your shoe? What was your reasoning for that?” His voice was starting to break and Mycroft was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

“Oh, Sherlock, I’m sorry,” he whispered, hating himself for making such a magnificent creature feel so belittled. “I have no excuses, I can only say I did it to stop you from seeking me out. I only ever wanted to protect you.”

“Protect me? By making me think that you hated me?”

“I don’t hate you, I’ve never hated you.” How could he have gotten it so wrong? The pain he felt in his chest had nothing to do with his injuries and everything to do with seeing the sheer anguish on his baby brother’s face.

“It was always us, Mycroft. You and I against the world.  _ That _ made me feel safe, knowing that you would always be there for me. And then you left and I was alone, but I still wanted to make you proud and I did my best but it was never good enough.  _ I  _ was never good enough. You could have told me why, you could have trusted me, but it’s obvious that I’m not even worth your trust.”

He choked on a sob as he realised just how much he had hurt Sherlock - the very thing he had been trying to prevent. “I’m sorry, Lock, I’m so sorry.”

The use of his nickname pulled Sherlock up short, silencing whatever he had been about to say next. His stood from his place on the couch and moved until he was kneeling on the floor in front of the armchair Mycroft was sitting in. Even amidst the emotional turmoil they were both suffering, and the pain from his injuries, Mycroft’s cock gave a twitch at the sight of his brother on his knees before him. He ignored it and allowed Sherlock to take his uninjured hand in his. “Can’t we just pretend the last five years haven’t happened? Can we go back to how it used to be? Please, My, I want so badly to go back to how it used to be. I miss my brother, and I want him back.”

He squeezed Sherlock’s hand as he squeezed his eyes, letting the tears welling there to spill over his cheeks. “I would like that very much, Lock. There are still things I can’t tell you, but I promise to tell you everything I can, so you know that I do trust you, that you  _ are _ important to me. That I lov...” The doorbell rang, and Mycroft’s head swivelled at the sound. He met Sherlock’s eyes and gave a small smile. “I’ll manage the door, but you’ll need to go upstairs now. I’ll come for you as soon as he’s gone.”

Sherlock nodded, and then got up and left the room without complaint. Mycroft made his way on shaking legs to the door and opened it to see Jarel Hagen standing there. Tall and imposing, his colleague loomed before him, his blonde hair glinting in the faint sunlight and a bulky case in one hand. Mycroft winced and waved him in. “Please, come in.”  Hagen nodded his thanks and stepped inside, removing his dark sunglasses and putting them in his pocket. Mycroft led him down into the sitting room and gestured for him to sit. “Can I get you anything?”

Hagen shook his head. “No, thank you.” He sat, folding his giant frame onto the couch and his piercing gaze took in the state of his friend. “Well, you look like shit, Holmes. What happened?”

Mycroft sighed. “Our intel was wrong. We thought there were only three, which would be difficult but manageable, but it turned out there were five.”

“That’ll do it. Show me.” Mycroft unbuttoned his shirt, then reached up and unwrapped the bandages from about his neck and shoulders, wincing as the gauze tugged at his torn flesh. Hagen leaned forward, observing the bite marks, an eyebrow lifting as he counted them. “They bit you numerous times each.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Mycroft retorted dryly.

“With this many bites, I doubt the treatment will work.”

He sighed again. “I figured as much.”

Hagen clapped him on the shoulder and leaned back in his seat. “It’s not all bad, Holmes. Makes it easier to fight them, plus there are other benefits.”

“I believe the cons outweigh the pros when it comes to this,” he said a little stiffly.

Hagen regarded him with sympathetic eyes. “It’s hard, at the beginning, but it’s easier these days. When I was first turned, we were considered something from a nightmare. There were no alliances, no working together, just fear and hatred and being hunted. And to be honest, we  _ were _ monsters back then. Things are so different now, with services available to control the bloodlust, so we can blend in with regular people.”

“Yes, but regular people still don’t  _ know _ , do they?”

Hagen shook his head. “Until we have won this war, Holmes, we cannot allow the humans to know. It would cause too much panic, too much hatred if they saw what the enemy were like. One day we will be able to step into the light, announce that we are no threat, that we do not use humans like cattle. Assure people that we have a treatment that prevents The Change in 80% of cases. Until then, we must remain in the shadows, fighting the good fight.”

Mycroft just nodded, resigned to his fate. “So, what can I expect now then?” He waved at his body.

“It differs for each of us, but I think it has already begun for you. I noticed you wince at the sunlight when you opened the door. You won’t be able to go outside now without sunglasses, and if you remain in direct sunlight for too long, you will burn more quickly than before. Next, you’ll probably notice you heal much quicker. Keep an eye on those bruises, as they’ll be the first clue. Next will be your wrist. The bites will be the last to heal. You’ll always have those scars.” He tilted his head and pulled down his collar so Mycroft could see the raised white scar of a single bite. “You’ll start to lose your regular appetite, and the cravings will begin. At first, your mind will fight it, making you think it’s just a rare steak that you want, but eventually you’ll realise that it is in fact blood that you need.” He gestured at the case by his feet. “You’ll need quite a lot to begin with, so this will only last a couple of days. There’s a card inside with a number to phone for a delivery of more. Once you’re drinking blood, the speed of The Change will increase. You’ll become faster and stronger, your body temperature will drop until your skin will become cool to touch, and your heart rate will slow until a human will not be able to detect a pulse.”

Mycroft nodded, having studied vampire physiology extensively. It was very different to the creatures from fiction, and although he would now live for a very long time, he wouldn’t technically be ‘undead’. Blood would still flow through his veins, albeit much more slowly, and he could still be killed. He just wouldn’t die of disease or old age.

Hagen gave him a smile. “I’ve been assigned to you whilst you transition so please call me if you need anything. I’ll drop by in a day or two to see how you’re faring.” The vampire stood and Mycroft began to walk with him to the door. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination but his pain had already seemed to lessen. “Oh, one last thing,” Hagen said before he left. “I noticed two tea cups - you have someone staying with you?”

Mycroft nodded. “My brother.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be alone, but it’s important to be with someone platonic. You’ll find your libido increasing and the desires are hard to resist at first. It’s important to not be around people who you want to shag.” The vampire laughed and then clapped Mycroft on the back once more. “Take care, Holmes.”

Mycroft shut the door and leaned against it, his eyes closing in horror. “Well,  _ fuck _ .”


	2. Let Me Banish Your Bad Dreams

Sherlock watched from the window as the tall, blonde man left the house. He’d not stayed overly long, so Sherlock had only really had time to pop into Mycroft’s study and select a book. He’d noticed a framed photo on the shelf, and took it down, seeing it was one of them, taken just before Mycroft had left for university. They were standing next to each other, his brother’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and they were both smirking at the camera. The frame was dust free but the shelf it sat on had a thin layer covering it so Sherlock deduced Mycroft often took it down to look at. He had felt warmth bloom inside him at the thought, a sign that Mycroft really hadn’t planned to be so callous with him, but had done it of necessity. 

He sat down now on the bed in the spare room and opened the book, not wanting Mycroft to know he’d been watching for when his colleague left. It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps on the stairs and then his brother was appearing in the doorway. He was still so pale, with dark circles around his eyes, but he seemed to be standing just a little bit straighter. His shirt was buttoned but it was less bulky than before, and several spots of blood were staining the material. Sherlock tilted his head at him. “Do you need a hand re-bandaging your wounds?”

Mycroft’s eyes widened for just a moment, and it wasn’t hard to tell it was from fear. He shook his head, and hurried to say, “No, it’s fine, I’ll manage well enough. I’ll ah, just be in the bathroom. Help yourself to anything you wish.”

Sherlock watched as his brother hurried away, and wondered just what he was hiding from him. He had promised only half an hour ago to be more honest with him, and yet here he was, hiding from him once again. How were they supposed to go back to being as close as they had once been if Mycroft was still holding him at arm’s length? Sherlock sighed and flung the book to one side, flopping onto his back so he could think. He knew Mycroft worked for the government, he’d been recruited in his third year of university. It was either MI5 or MI6, but since Sherlock hardly saw Mycroft, he wasn’t aware of how often he traveled out of the country so he couldn’t narrow it down to which department in the Secret Service. He wasn’t just a pencil pusher either - you didn’t get hospitalised from paper cuts, and you didn’t try and protect your family if all you did was desk work. 

He heard the shower start up and wondered how his brother was going to manage with his arm in a cast. If anyone could figure it out, it would be Mycroft. He kept one ear open for any sounds that would signal his brother needed help, then picked up the book and tried to lose himself in the story. He was close to making guesses about Mycroft’s work and he didn’t  _ do _ that. He needed more data to deduce the truth and so until he had that, he would think no more on the matter. 

The shower switched off, and Sherlock decided to go and start dinner to distract him from the urge to barge into the bathroom and see for himself the extent of the damage that had been done to his brother. Mycroft had followed the same setup in the kitchen as Mummy had used and so the younger man had no trouble finding his way around. He poked about in the pantry after finding the fridge empty, and found a large store of non-perishable items such as pasta and sauce, plus a carton of UHT milk that would have been useful an hour ago - a clear sign his brother was rarely home. He set a pot to boil and by the time Mycroft appeared, the pasta was almost done. 

His brother looked a little better after a shower but still shattered and he sat down stiffly on one of the chairs. He said nothing as Sherlock plated up their meal, and they began to eat in silence. Well, Sherlock ate anyway. Mycroft seemed content to push his food back and forth over his plate than put any in his mouth. “Not hungry?” he asked after a while.

His brother’s head jerked up and he looked a little uncomfortable. “Oh, um, no, not really. Perhaps it’s the effects of the pain medication.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed but he refrained from pointing out that he hadn’t been sent home with any medication. Maybe his brother had some here and had taken it while in the bathroom? Another idea occurred to him and once it had a foothold, he couldn’t quite shake it off. Mycroft was now dressed in pyjama bottoms and a loose t shirt, and his ribs and collarbones were visible through the material, even with the bandages in the way. The suits he always wore when he returned home were well tailored and would hide his frame, but now it was obvious the slightly chubby man who had gone off to university was nowhere to be seen. Had Mycroft developed an eating disorder? All the jibes he’d made at Mycroft over his weight came back to haunt him and he felt guilt well inside him. Had he contributed to the situation? Made his brother feel so terrible about himself that he felt the need to starve himself? 

Aware of his scrutiny, Mycroft ate a few mouthfuls of food but it didn’t appear to sit well with him. Sherlock forced conversation, keeping his brother at the table, afraid he would head for the bathroom and bring up the small amount he had eaten. They tidied away the few dishes they had used, and then Sherlock begged for his brother to watch a film with him, wanting to keep him in sight the whole night. To his surprise, Mycroft agreed, and even sat himself on the couch with Sherlock, instead of the armchair. They flicked through the channels, settling on  _ Return to Oz _ . It had been one of Sherlock’s favourite movies as a child, and he loved how dark it was. Mycroft smiled at him fondly as he began to recite the dialogue along with the actors. 

By the time Dorothy was in the Hall of Heads, Sherlock had shuffled about to get comfortable several times, and ended up leaning up against Mycroft. His brother tensed for a moment and then seemed to relax, and he even reached up and ruffled his curls. It was nice, instantly transporting him back to a time when he and Mycroft were much closer, and he wished that they had never grown apart. He had missed this, missed  _ Mycroft _ \- he was the only person in the world that Sherlock could ever relate to. He felt so relaxed that he found his eyes starting to close, sleep stealing over him.

He woke some time later, finding himself on his back, his head cushioned in Mycroft’s lap. Cool fingers were stroking his hair and he stayed still, hoping his brother wouldn’t realise he was awake so he wouldn’t stop. He hated people touching him but this felt so nice that he didn’t want it to end. Eventually he did open his eyes, just a little so he could peek at his brother. Mycroft wasn’t looking down at him, but was gazing out at nothingness. The room was dark, the only light coming from the full moon outside the window. In the soft light, Mycroft looked deathly pale, his skin seeming to glow. Sherlock almost gasped, realising just how beautiful his brother was. He wondered why he would suddenly think that, but before he could give it any thought, Mycroft tilted his head, looking down at Sherlock. “I see you’re awake, brother mine,” he said quietly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“That’s alright. We should get you up though before your neck starts to hurt.” His eyes flickered to Sherlock’s throat, and he swallowed audibly.

“Okay.” He climbed up off his brother and held out a hand, offering him a hand up. Mycroft looked as if he would refuse, but then grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled up. 

“Thank you,” he said softly. They went upstairs, the light from outside bright enough that they didn’t need the lights, and paused outside of the spare room.

Sherlock hesitated an instant before he threw himself at Mycroft, hugging him close. “I’m glad you’re okay, My,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you while you weren’t talking to me.”

“Oh,  _ Sherlock _ ,” Mycroft said, his voice pained. He returned the hug with his one good arm, his hand rubbing up and down along his younger brother’s back. “I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am for pushing you away.”

“Just promise me you won’t ever do that again. Promise me!”

“I promise, Lock, I swear.”

Sherlock stepped back and looked at Mycroft, weighing his words, reading the truth in them. He seemed to have made a genuine promise, and content with it, Sherlock gave him a smile. “Thanks. Night, My. Sleep well.”

“You too, brother mine.”

He went into the spare room and closed the door, then climbed into bed. Despite having fallen asleep on the couch, it was a long time before sleep claimed him once more.

oOoOo

Mycroft lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep. It had been nice, spending time with his brother tonight, even if he’d had to keep reminding himself that what he felt was wrong. He could have a purely platonic relationship with Sherlock, he could. He just had to put his mind to it, think with his brain, and not his heart. Caring was  _ not _ an advantage, and would bring nothing but heartache and misery to himself and the one he loved. Besides, he was going through The Change. It wouldn’t be long and he wouldn’t even be human anymore. He would become one of the monsters he hunted. Sure, there were vampires on their side - the ones who wanted to coexist with humans and live peacefully, but no matter how much good he did whilst in that altered state, it would not change the fact that he would be a monster, someone who wouldn’t age, who needed to drink blood to survive, someone who would be strong enough to force someone to do something against their will…

He rolled over, shoving that thought aside. He wouldn’t, would he? He could never force Sherlock into doing something he didn’t want to, could he? He loved his brother fiercely, and using his new strength and power to force him into a sexual relationship was something completely abhorrent to him. He may turn into a vampire, but he would still be  _ him _ , wouldn’t he? His mind, his personality, that wouldn’t change, would it? 

Worry clawed at his mind, and even when he finally drifted off to sleep, dark thoughts assaulted him. He dreamed of fangs and blood; of pale bodies, and throats ripped open; of a naked, screaming Sherlock, his blood red against pale skin, and his own face bending low so he could lap it up. He came awake, screaming out a piercing, “ _ No! _ ” and then his door was crashing open and Sherlock himself appeared, eyes darting around, looking for danger. “Just a nightmare,” he panted out, assuring him there was no danger. Well, no more than he himself. “Sorry to wake you.”

His brother stood for a long moment, seeming to catch his breath as he accepted that there was no threat, and then instead of returning to his own room, he crossed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

Mycroft shook his head, and curled his arms around his knees. “No, not really.” Sherlock nodded, then pulled the blanket back and climbed underneath. “What are you doing?” he asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice. He would have had a hard time control his desires as it was, but now he was terrified The Change would make him do something he regretted.

“You always used to let me sleep in your bed when I had a nightmare when I was a child. It helped. I figured having me here would help you now.”

He sounded so sincere that Mycroft couldn’t refuse. Their relationship was balanced on the precipice and if he didn’t nurture it, they would fall back into the divide that had sprung between them. He’d promised he wouldn’t let that happen so no matter how hard it was for him, he would have to make the effort. He didn’t say anything, just shuffled back down, making sure there was a large gap between them.

They didn’t speak, but he could tell Sherlock wasn’t asleep either. The warmth from his body was radiating across the bed and Mycroft felt as if he was being warmed by flames. He could hear the even breathing, and could even hear his heartbeat. It thrummed through his head, and he found it oddly comforting. He didn’t dwell on the fact that if this had happened yesterday, he’d have been unable to detect Sherlock’s heartbeat from this distance, instead just allowed his own heart to match the strong rhythm. He longed to reach out and touch, to pull his brother close and cover him in kisses, but instead he forced himself to roll over onto his side, facing away from Sherlock. Eventually he fell asleep again, and this time the darkness kept out of his dreams.

He woke the following morning with heat pressed against his back, almost burning him. It took his sleep addled mind a long moment to process that it was a person, and an even longer moment to remember who it was who was sharing his bed. His cock twitched as he catalogued every point of contact between himself and his brother; the hand that was slung over his hip, the foot that was tangled between his ankles, the hot breath against the back of his neck, the hardness pressed agains-  _ fuck _ .

His baby brother was asleep, pressed against him, and he had morning wood. 

Mycroft felt the need to hyperventilate but he then found that he  _ couldn’t _ . He forced himself to take a deep breath, and he felt his lungs expand and then contract as he exhaled. He then deliberately didn’t take another breath. He waited for the tightness to start, the tingling in his extremities, the  _ need _ to breathe, but it didn’t come. He counted in his head, and by the time he hit three minutes, he had proof that he no longer needed oxygen. 

Well, that was fucking weird.

It had also successfully distracted him from his current predicament and he started to edge away from Sherlock, needing to get up and away from his temptation. His brother wasn’t making things easy, as he mumbled in his sleep and his snuggled even closer to Mycroft. His brother’s hard cock was now pressing quite firmly against his arse crack and the urge to rut against him was almost overpowering. He made an even greater effort to escape the hold, but it resulted in the one thing he had been trying to avoid overall - waking up Sherlock.

His brother made the most adorable snuffling noises as he came awake and then there was a pregnant pause as he seemed to realise what he was doing. “Oh,” he said. “Are you awake, My?”

“Just getting up now,” he replied as nonchalantly as possible, thinking if he ignored the elephant (and it’s trunk) in the room, it would be less awkward for both of them. 

Sherlock’s arm immediately disappeared from his hip, and he rolled over, disentangling them and allowing Mycroft to get out of bed. He reached for his robe and slung it on over his pyjamas, hiding his own erection that had sprung to life. He belted the robe and then asked politely, “Did you sleep well?” He glanced over and saw that Sherlock was lying on his back and his cheeks were tinged a delicate pink.

“Um, yeah, thanks. You?”

“I did. No more nightmares, thanks to you.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Mycroft nodded and then sensing that his brother needed time to be alone so he could...gather himself...before getting up, he went down the hall and into the bathroom. He felt no need to relieve himself, but he splashed water on his face and then undid his robe and took off his shirt. He peered at himself in the mirror (using the word ‘peer’ even though he could see perfectly well in the dim light) and ran a hand lightly over his torso. The bruises had almost completely disappeared already with only the worst ones remaining. He closed his eyes, remembering the way the vampires had kicked and punched him to the ground, toying with him as if he was a mouse and they were alleycats. He had been certain he would die but then they had started biting him...he opened his eyes and peeled off the new bandages, examining the puncture wounds. Some had torn the flesh right off, but the others were perfect indents of fangs. He sighed and went to cover them back up when the door opened and Sherlock walked into the room. He paused, obviously not expecting Mycroft to be in there, and then his eyes widened as he took in the injuries. Their eyes met in the mirror and then Sherlock crossed to him. He felt the heat at his back once more as his brother stood close behind him and then the hot touch as his fingers gently brushed his neck. “What happened?” Sherlock croaked.

“It’s nothing,” Mycroft said, quickly trying to cover his wounds.

“Quit  _ lying _ to me, My! You look like you’ve been attacked by a wild animal! Tell me what happened.”

Knowing he had no choice if he wanted to regain Sherlock’s trust, he nodded wearily. “I need to clean these and re-wrap them. Will you help? I’ll tell you while we work.”

Sherlock nodded and was silent as Mycroft gathered the supplies and then returned to the bedroom. He lay everything out on the bed and then sat so Sherlock could attend to his injuries. Time to tell some truths. “How much do you know about vampires?” he asked.


	3. Let Me Explain

“How much do you know about vampires?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock had been soaking some cotton wool with antiseptic liquid but paused to look at him. He didn’t immediately scoff and say they were simply a myth, his own genius mind connecting the dots between the evidence he had before him. “They’re real?” he asked. “Not just legends?”

Mycroft nodded. “Legends always have a grain of truth to them. I first learned of them in my third year of university when I was approached by a secret service recruitment officer. I was asked if I would be interested in joining the service, that my name had been flagged as a potential candidate and I could take the entrance exams if I wished. It was what I had been hoping for and so I jumped at the chance. The tests I took were mostly what I expected, but some of them were...obscure. I assumed they were just to test reactions to the unexpected and in a way they were, but little did I know the unexpected was actually quite real. I was then interviewed, told that my test results were exceptional, and that if I was willing to undergo intense physical training, I was a prime candidate for the most elite of their ranks. I’d already improved my fitness levels, going to the gym, and training, hoping to qualify as an MI5 or MI6 agent, but this was much more than just a run of the mill spy.”

“I can’t picture you at a gym,” Sherlock said absently as he dabbed at the nastier wounds with the cotton wool. He stopped suddenly and looked mortified. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way!” he said quickly. “It’s just, you always preferred to read!”

Mycroft shook his head softly. “It’s okay, Sherlock. It’s true - the Mycroft who you knew was always more sedentary. I was a chubby child and quite lazy so it’s no wonder you can’t imagine me being fit. I started training when I first started at university, and by the end of my first year, I had lost all my excess weight. I could never seem to bulk up, and tended to be lean and wiry - and fast. I took up running, finding it helped me think, but it did leave me whippet thin.”

“I thought perhaps you had an eating disorder,” he admitted, blushing deeply.

“I can see why. I’m very different to how you must remember me.” They fell quiet for a while and then Sherlock urged him to continue and he acquiesced. “The program I was accepted into was...not anything at all like I was expecting. I assumed it would be counterterrorism or something similar, but instead I was sat down, along with a dozen other recruits, and we were told that vampires existed and that we were in the middle of a war with them. There were vampires that fought with us, wanting the same things - to coexist, to live in peace - but the majority were against us. They believe themselves to be the superior race and that their rightful place is as the rulers of humankind. I had been chosen to become a hunter, to be trained in how to track them and kill them, to keep humanity safe.” He gave a wry huff. “I was good at it too. One of the best. I could take out three vampires by myself, my intellect allowing me to outthink them every time, and the skills I developed taking care of putting them down. But then the other day I found myself outnumbered. I thought they would kill me, but instead the bit me and left me to change.”

“The doctor said something about treatment,” Sherlock mused, sticking a plaster over the last wound.

“Yes, scientists discovered a serum a while ago that would counteract the vampire venom in the majority of cases, preventing The Change. For some people, it just isn’t effective, a little like how some people’s bodies reject vaccinations. For others, the amount of venom is too great and the treatment isn’t successful.”

“I’m guessing from the number of bites you have, you’ll fall into that category,” Sherlock said softly. He had moved to sit down next to Mycroft on the bed.

“Yes, it’s very much looking like I’m undergoing The Change,” he said.

“So, you’ll become a vampire?”

“Yes.”

“Will you...will you still be you?”

“I believe so. The Change is mostly physical. From what I’ve learned speaking to vampires I work with, their personalities remain much the same afterwards, though obviously some do change. Mad on power I suppose.”

Sherlock nodded, thinking this over. “The man who came yesterday - he was a vampire?”

“Yes.”

“But he was outside during the day!”

“An allergy to sunlight is one of the myths, brother mine, fostered by bad literature and even worse television. My eyes will be more sensitive to the light and I will burn more easily than most humans, but being a ginger, I’m rather used to sunburn already.”

“I see. So, what then are the facts? Are you immortal?”

“I will not die from natural causes. I will not age, and I will be immune to diseases and cancers. I can die though by being pierced through the heart, or by being burned.”

“You’ll outlive me?”

He swallowed hard, not even wanting to contemplate watching his younger brother grow old and die. “Perhaps. Most likely I will be killed in service.”

“Oh.” His brother avoided looking at him. “What else is true?”

“I’m not sure what you’ve heard. I will be much stronger and faster than a human, and I will also heal more quickly. I cannot enter a place of residence without being invited in, but holy ground is no issue. Crucifixes and holy water will not harm me as vampires have existed for longer than Christianity has. Silver will cause me to become temporarily paralysed, and so we make our vampire restraints from the metal. As you saw earlier, I still have a reflection in the mirror, and crossing water is no problem, as long as there is a bridge and I won’t ruin my shoes.”

Sherlock laughed at this, and Mycroft felt glad he still had the ability to bring a smile to his brother’s face. It faded though and he became serious. “You’ve not mentioned the big one though.”

“Oh?”

“Do you drink blood?”

“Ah, right, that one. Um, yes, I suppose I will need to start drinking that to survive.”

“You’ve not yet?”

“No. Hagen left some with me when he came, but I have yet to feel the urge to drink it.”

“So what, it’s bottled or something?”

“Yes.”

“So, you don’t, you know,  _ drink _ from people.”

“Um, well, yes, but it’s a bit different.”

“How so? What aren’t you telling me?”

He felt himself blush, surprised he could still do it. “Um, well, drinking straight from the source, so to speak, is a, well, it’s considered a, to some it’s a-”

“ _ My! _ Stop blathering and spit it out!”

“It’s a sexual act, Sherlock! Drinking from a human is very erotic.”

“Oh.”

They were both blushing now, which was ridiculous. Sherlock was twenty, and he twenty seven and Mummy had sat them down for ‘the talk’ when they were old enough to start asking the questions - which for them had been  _ very _ young. But knowing the mechanical workings of something and having experienced it was something  _ very _ different. Mycroft was still a virgin, having never felt the urge to experiment with anyone ( _ except Sherlock _ , his traitorous brain whispered), and as far as he knew, Sherlock also didn't have any experience either, never seeming to connect with people that way. The way he was reacting to even discussing sex seemed to confirm this. An awkward silence fell over them, and then Sherlock broke it. “So, breakfast?”

“Yes, yes that sounds like a very good idea.” 

They avoided looking at each other as they made their way down to the kitchen, and Mycroft told himself he shouldn’t be so happy that he was almost certain that Sherlock too was a virgin.

oOoOo

The kettle boiled and Sherlock poured water into the teapot, using the time that it took to steep to gather his thoughts. It had been a bit of a shock - not the fact that vampires existed, or that his brother was trained to hunt them, or even the fact that Mycroft was becoming one of them - no, what shocked him the most was his own reaction. He very much wanted Mycroft to bite him.

He stole a glance at his brother, sitting at the table and looking tired. And ravishing. And therein lay the problem. The past couple of days he had found himself having those odd little thoughts, noticing how attractive Mycroft was, and he was now forced to admit that he had developed a crush on his brother. How ridiculous. Sherlock didn’t  _ do _ that. From what he’d read and heard, sex was messy, and sticky, and  _ emotional _ , and that was enough for him to say  _ no thank you _ and avoid it entirely. Yet here he was, feeling drawn to someone in that manner for the first time in his life and it was his bloody brother! Could his life become any more of a Shakespearean tragedy? 

He poured two cups of tea, not sure if Mycroft would even drink his, and came across to the table. He decided to distract himself from these new found  _ feelings _ by concentrating on gathering data. He had a front row seat to a human changing into a vampire and it would be remiss of him to not document the proceedings. “Do you mind if I ask questions?” 

His brother looked a little taken aback by the fact he’d sought permission. “Of course not, Lock. I would expect nothing less.”

Warmth bloomed through him at the use of his nickname, but he deliberately avoiding thinking on it. “Right, you said that vampires have venom - that’s what causes the transformation?”

“That’s correct.”

“Does that mean then that if they were to drink from someone -”  _ Hypothetically, just wondering, asking for a friend _ , “- that this person would then be changed as well?”

“From what I understand, no. I’ve not yet had the opportunity to try it myself, but from what I’ve been taught, there is a certain way to bite that will activate the venom sacs. Biting to...feed, does not require that.”

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully and reached over to the sideboard to grab a notepad and pen that were handily sitting there. He scribbled down these observations, trying to ignore thinking about what that could possibly mean for him. “So you’ve not had the chance to try yet. Can you try now?” His eyes flew about the room and landed on a fruit bowl. He went and picked up an orange and threw it over to him. “You can practice on that.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and placed the orange on the table. “Actually, no I can’t. My, um, fangs, haven’t come in yet.”

“Really?” Without asking, Sherlock stepped up close to his brother and took his face in his hands, prodding and probing at his jaw. “Open,” he demanded, and Mycroft did so, after giving him one of those patented ‘older brother looks’ that said very clearly that he was being very accommodating but don’t push it, mister. Sherlock crouched down so he could peer into his brother’s mouth, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary there at all (and deliberately  _ not _ looking at his lips or his tongue and thinking about how they would feel against his own). He stood back up, his hands still firmly grasping Mycroft’s face, and he noticed the prickles of stubble beneath the pads of his fingers, He rubbed his thumbs across his cheeks. “Your hair still grows?” he asked. “You have more stubble today than yesterday.”

Mycroft reached up and took hold of his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face, and Sherlock didn’t miss the look that flashed across his brother’s face. Mycroft was  _ uncomfortable _ . He tried not to let the hurt show on his own features as he stepped back, but what else should he have expected? They were  _ brothers _ . If Mycroft knew about this silly crush, he would be absolutely disgusted. “Yes, my hair still grows,” Mycroft told him, shifting about on his chair so he reclaimed some personal space. “I’m not dead, Sherlock - just had a change of species.”

He nodded, and scribbled a note, then went and sat down on his own chair, trying to appear nonchalant, but still stinging at the casual rejection. “You’ve not touched your tea - feeling peckish for something else?”

For a moment, he was sure Mycroft would evade the question; make some flippant remark and change the subject, but he didn’t. He sighed and shrugged. “I do not know. The tea is not appealing to me whatsoever, even though I am thirsty.”

“So why not give the blood a go?”

Mycroft blushed. “I’m not sure if I want you to witness that.”

“Why not? It’s just from a bottle, I wouldn’t be spying on you with a...donor.” He swallowed hard, trying to taper down on the surge of jealousy he felt at the thought of Mycroft drinking from a person.

“Yes, but…”

“But what?” His brother seemed lost for words which was a new phenomenon in itself.

“I suppose I’m hesitant to have you witness the last shreds of my humanity fade,” Mycroft whispered.

It was his turn to give him a ‘patented younger brother’ look. This one said no matter what you do, you’ll  _ always _ be my older brother and I’ll always look up to you, so stop being silly and do what I want. “I’ll pretend that you didn’t say something so utterly daft and we can try again. Would you like to try some blood?”

The new vampire hesitated for just a second longer, then finally nodded. “Yes, I suppose I should. Once I start drinking it, The Change will quicken. No point staying in this in-between stage for longer than necessary.”

He followed, curious, as Mycroft got up and went into the sitting room. There was a cupboard in the corner that his whiskey decanter sat upon and when he opened the door below, it revealed a small bar fridge. Stored inside were half a dozen bottles, all filled with a dark red liquid that almost looked black. He pulled one out and Sherlock immediately plucked it from his hand and tilted the glass this way and that, examining it. The bottles were clear with no labels or stickers on them, nothing at all to reveal what was inside or who provided it. “Where does it come from?”

“I’m not sure,” his brother admitted. “I know there are suppliers, and the vampires on the books with the secret service are provided with high quality stores, but that’s it.”

“Your work provides them with blood?”

“Yes.”

“Did they used to buy  _ your _ food?”

“Well, no.”

“Seems a bit unfair.”

Mycroft shrugged. “One of the perks of taking our side in the war I suppose.”

Sherlock twisted the cap off the bottle and sniffed at the liquid. It was rich and coppery smelling, and seemed to be completely normal blood. “Do they add anything to it? Preservatives or anything? Is it even human?”

“Again, I’m not sure.”

“You really should find these things out, My. Don’t you want to know what you’ll be eating?”

His brother sighed. “Sherlock, this transformation of mine wasn’t planned. It was quite by accident and so I’ve not had much time to do any research. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m making this up as I go along.”

He suddenly felt bad and he grimaced an apology. “Sorry, I’m just curious.”

Mycroft sat on the couch and patted the seat next to him. When Sherlock sat, he made as if he was going to wrap an arm about his shoulder and give him a hug, but pulled back at the last second and merely patted his arm. It was almost like a kick to the guts and he thought that Mycroft had surely picked up on his feelings this morning and was avoiding doing anything that could be interpreted the wrong way. His words did bring Sherlock some comfort however. “That’s why I have you. Feel free to do whatever experiments you’d like on the blood. I’d be very interested to see if there are additives in it as well.”

He gave him a small smile. “Thanks. Once you’ll finished this, I’ll keep the dregs in the bottom to examine later.” His face fell. “Oh, all my equipment is in my dorm at uni.”

“I have some basic equipment here,” Mycroft told him.

“Really?” As far as he knew, his brother had given up on doing experiments years ago.

Mycroft blushed a little. “Um, well, I kept them here in case you ever wanted to use them.”

“But you’ve never invited me over before! Why would you keep things for me here if you didn’t want me here?”

“Oh, Sherlock, I never  _ didn’t _ want you here!” Mycroft did wrap his arm around his shoulder this time and Sherlock leaned against him hungrily. 

“Then why? Why did you push me away?” There was a long silence, but it was clear that whatever internal struggle Mycroft was undergoing, he would be keeping to himself. Sherlock decided not to push for now, to revisit it later. The touch was proof enough that whatever it was that had caused Mycroft to keep his distance was being kept in the past. “Would you prefer to drink from a glass, or from the bottle?” The arm was still around his shoulders and Sherlock stayed very still, thinking that if he moved at all, his brother would remove it. 

“Oh, a glass I suppose,” his brother replied after a moment of consideration. 

“And will it need to be warmed up? I don’t know if it will be better cold or at...body temperature.”

“Yet another thing I have given little thought to,” Mycroft admitted. “I suppose logically it would be better if it was warmed. Perhaps I should phone Hagen and ask him?”

The younger man scoffed. “I’m sure we can figure it out between us, My.”  It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he slipped out from Mycroft’s half embrace. “Wait here,” he instructed. He took the bottle into the kitchen and poured half of it into a glass tumbler, and the other half into a mug. He popped the mug in the microwave for a minute on low, then took it out and gave it a stir with a spoon, and popped it in for another thirty seconds. He stopped himself from licking the spoon at the last minute, having almost slipped his mind what it was he was preparing. Once it was done, he took both beverages into the sitting room, stopping dead in the doorway as he caught sight of his brother. He was leaning back against the couch and his head was tipped backwards, eyes closed. His chest wasn’t moving at all and he looked utterly lifeless. The glasses tumbled to the ground, spilling across the carpet and Sherlock darted forward, a cry on his lips.


	4. Can I Experiment?

Mycroft watched Sherlock go into the kitchen and slumped back on the couch, trying to calm his heart rate. He’d been trying his best to avoid touching his brother so he wouldn’t tempt himself further, but seeing the look of absolute dejection on Sherlock’s face was too much. He’d offered what comfort he could, but it was a difficult balancing act. A simple arm across his shoulders should not have felt so erotic, and yet he had been almost unable to concentrate on what his brother was saying, instead feeling all his nerves firing at each point of contact between them. His cock had started to plump in his pyjama bottoms but he had no control; he couldn’t let go.

Perhaps Sherlock had sensed the inappropriate response of his body as he slipped from under his arm and had hurried to the kitchen. _Stupid!_ How could he have allowed his defences to slip like that? The urge to kiss him was growing stronger and stronger, more demanding than usual, and he was concerned that he would not be able to hold that desire at bay for much longer. Just the mere thought of those plush, kissable lips was enough to make him harden entirely and he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to distract himself. He concentrated again on not breathing, having found it worked quite splendidly earlier, and he fell into an almost meditative trance as he concentrated on fighting the habits of a lifetime and resisting the impulse to take a breath.

There was a sudden cry, not even words, just a strangled sob and then Sherlock was there, almost straddling him, shaking him. “My! No, please, don’t leave me, My!”

He opened his eyes and reached up instinctively to grasp Sherlock’s arms.”Lock, it’s okay, I’m fine, calm down.”

Sherlock’s blue-green eyes were wide with fright and worry, but he stilled when Mycroft responded. “What happened?” he demanded. “Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

“Sherlock,” he said slowly and carefully, “I’m fine. What’s gotten into you?”

“What do you mean what’s gotten into me?” his brother almost yelled, sinking down until he was perched on Mycroft’s legs. His hands gripped the front of Mycroft’s sleep shirt in tight fists. “You looked _dead_. You weren’t breathing, and you weren’t moving, and I thought you were dead!” Tears had started to stream down his face and he beat his fists against Mycroft’s chest to emphasise his last few words.

It occurred to Mycroft that during their chat earlier in the morning, he had failed to mention that he no longer required oxygen to survive. It appeared that had been a grievous omission. He pulled Sherlock forward and held him close, running his hand soothingly down his back. His brother slumped against him, his face pressed against his chest. “I’m sorry I scared you. I forgot to tell you that I no longer need to breathe, I’m sorry it slipped my mind.”

Sherlock began to laugh - slightly hysterical giggles. “It ‘slipped your mind’? You don’t need to breathe anymore but that’s such a tiny thing that you completely forgot to mention it!”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, brother mine,” Mycroft murmured, trying not to think about how it felt to have Sherlock’s shaking body pressed close against him. “There was so much else I had to tell you that it’s a given that I’ll have missed some things. For example, I may not require oxygen to live but I do still need to breathe when I want to talk since my vocal chords still work the same as yours. I’ll only ever look like I’m not breathing when I don’t need to talk.”

His brother lifted his head a little, his face slightly obscured by his messy curls and Mycroft fought the urge to push them back off his forehead and then cover the pale skin with kisses. “Perhaps you should take a moment and think really hard to see if there’s anything else of importance that you’ve forgotten to mention? Just so I don’t have another heart attack today. I am only twenty - I shouldn’t have heart failure this young in life.”

He gave a wry smile. “I’m pretty sure there’s nothing else I’ve missed. Nothing major anyway.”

Sherlock nodded and then turned his head to look over his shoulder at the mess on the carpet. “I guess I should clean that up.” His skin had pulled taut over the tendons in his neck and Mycroft could see his heartbeat thumping beneath the skin. His eyes widened a little and he couldn’t pull them from that fluttering pulse. He wanted to lean forward and lick it, just a small taste. He didn’t even realise that a small whine had escaped his throat, but Sherlock did. He turned back and he froze, noticing how fixated Mycroft was on his younger brother’s throat. He swallowed visibly and then backed off Mycroft’s lap. “I’ll uh, go and clean that up and get you some more.” He hurried off into the kitchen and Mycroft let his head flop back against the back of the couch again.

Fuck. _Fuck_. Sherlock was scared of him. He thought he was going to rip his throat out and drain him dry. Yet he was still here, willing to help. But what if he knew the truth? That Mycroft had been trying his damnedest to not jump him and fuck him senseless? There would be no way to convince him to stay, he would lose him forever. He had to maintain control, to keep a handle on those urges, especially since they were growing stronger and stronger.

Sherlock appeared with a handful of teatowels that he placed over the spills on the carpet, but Mycroft came to his senses and waved his off. “Don’t bother - it’ll never come out. I’ll just have it replaced.”

The younger man looked as if he would argue but instead chose not too, just rising and returning to the kitchen. There was the sound of the microwave and then he was back, carrying two more cups. He came and sat on the couch, leaving a large space between them that felt like a gulf. He held out the first, a whiskey tumbler that had been filled with the chilled blood. “Might as well start with this one,” he said with a shrug.

Mycroft nodded and took the glass. The liquid inside was a rich red, and though his brain was screaming at him that blood was not part of the food pyramid, his mouth had started salivating as the smell hit him. His eyes flickered to Sherlock, noticing the avid look of curiosity on his face, and he raised the glass, trying not to feel self conscious. The moment the liquid hit his lips he let out a guttural groan, the taste exploding across his tongue, better than the finest wine. He swallowed his first sip, and forced himself to not drain the glass in one swallow.

“Well?” Sherlock asked. “What’s it like?”

Mycroft closed his eyes, unable to look at his brother as he answered. “Indescribable. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“Take another sip,” the younger man urged.

He did so, swallowing it greedily, and then couldn’t help himself - he tipped back the glass and drained it in three long swallows. He leaned forward and placed the empty tumbler on the coffee table, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked over at Sherlock and blushed at the scrutiny that was being leveled at him. His brother then handed him a mug.

“This one is the warmed one.”

He nodded and accepted it, trying not to jolt as their fingers brushed against each other. He raised the mug and took a sip, swirling the liquid around on his tongue before swallowing it. It seemed to almost fizz, like sherbert, the heat bringing the blood to life. It tasted not sweeter, but more satisfying, and settled with a comforting weight in his stomach.

“Better?” Sherlock asked.

He nodded. “Exponentially.”

Sherlock’s own face was a little flushed and he said in a breathy voice, “Imagine how good it would be from the source.”

Mycroft’s cock jumped at the tone and he had to tell himself firmly that it was the scientist in his brother that was speaking - there was no way that Sherlock felt that same way. “I doubt I’ll bother with that,” he said.

Sherlock looked confused. “Why not?”

He sighed. “Because there’s no one I would want to experience it with. I told you that it’s a sensual act.”

“No one?”

Was that a hint of sadness? Or just his own hopes? He gave himself a mental shake, reminding himself he needed to keep his mind sharp and not let emotion cloud his judgement. “I’m not interested in pretty faces, Sherlock. I need intellectual stimulation as well. Do you think there’s anyone out there who could give that to me?” _Besides you?_

There was no mistaking the look now - Sherlock most definitely looked upset, but why? Was it because he was worried Mycroft would be lonely? “I see. I’m going to head upstairs for a shower. I’ll leave you to your breakfast.” He got up from the couch and left without another word, leaving a very confused older brother behind.

Mycroft sat staring at the empty doorway long after Sherlock had disappeared through it. He had absolutely no idea why Sherlock was so upset. In his daydreams it would be because he wanted Mycroft in that manner, but this wasn’t a dream or a fantasy, this was reality and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to break his own heart by getting his hopes up. He could never have his brother in the way he wanted and there was no point in feeding those daydreams with misread cues from the younger man. He pulled himself from his despondent musing and took another sip of the blood. It had cooled a little but the flavour still bloomed over his tongue and he allowed his eyes to close so he could enjoy the sensation. He had to partition that human part of his mind away so he wouldn’t become disgusted with what he was doing. This was the new norm for him now and he best get used to it. Another swallow, another almost orgasmic explosion of flavour and that human part of his mind became smaller and smaller. He’d had a sweet tooth all his life but no cake or treat had _ever_ tasted this good. He could very quickly grow accustomed to this new nourishment.

He took his time and savoured the drink and once the mug was drained (he would deny vehemently that he had tipped his head back and held the mug to his lips to catch the very last few drops) he felt a satisfied fullness in his stomach. He stood and took the dishes to the kitchen, and then scratched absently at his cast wrist. He’d noticed a tingly feeling growing stronger the past half an hour or so - ever since he’d taken the first sip - but it wasn’t unpleasant so he’d ignored it. It was becoming stronger now and he dug his fingers under the cast as far as they could go. It wasn’t quite the urge to scratch, but it was fast becoming impossible to disregard. By the time he’d made it back to the sitting room it had escalated even further and he became quite convinced that perhaps an insect was trapped between the cast and his skin. He turned and went straight back into the kitchen and picked up a sharp knife. He began to saw at the cast, his motions becoming more and more frantic as the tingling feeling got stronger and stronger. He was sure his whole arm must be vibrating by now from the strength of them.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock’s voice came from behind him.

He turned and saw his brother standing there, his damp curls hanging from his head, one bead of water dripping tantalisingly down his neck. His eyes were wide with concern and were fixated on the knife. “I need to get this off!” It came out slightly panicked but Mycroft was too far gone to care.

To his credit, Sherlock didn’t question or argue, he just stepped forward and gently took the knife from Mycroft’s trembling hand and began to saw away at the cast for him. It wasn’t long before it cracked open and he pulled it off the pale, freckled wrist. Mycroft immediately turned it over, looking to see what was crawling on him, but there was nothing. The sensation had lessened slightly once the cast was removed, but was still there. “What is it?” Sherlock asked quietly. He hesitated a second, and then reached out and very carefully took hold of Mycroft’s wrist, gently turning it so he could examine it.

“I’m not sure,” he croaked, the warm touch of his brother’s fingers overpowering the odd sensation he’d been feeling. “It feels like I have ants under my skin.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he continued to examine the wrist. “I think it’s your expedited healing,” he muttered. “Does it hurt?”

“Not as such. It’s just...odd.” His brother continued to hold his wrist, prodding and poking it, even lifting it to his face so he could sniff at the skin. Mycroft swallowed a little too audibly but Sherlock was too caught up in his observations to notice.

“Can you move it?” his brother asked once he seemed content with his examination.

Mycroft tentatively twisted his wrist and then flexed it up and down. “Oh,” was all he could say, the memory of the pain of the break fading as he realised it had disappeared entirely.

“That’s got to be very handy,” Sherlock said, a mixture of awe and envy in his voice.

Mycroft could see his next train of thought almost as if he had a map. “No, Sherlock - you are _not_ breaking my bones in order to record the healing rate.”

His brother’s face fell and he pouted adorably. “Spoilsport.”

“Just because I heal, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“But it’s for science!”

“Experiments that I’m sure have already been conducted. I shall ask at work and if I can get hold of the documents, I’ll bring them to you to read.”

“It’s not the same as seeing it first hand.”

Mycroft felt his resolve waver but held firm. As much as he wanted to see his brother happy, allowing himself to be maimed to achieve that end was not a good precedent to set. “I’m sure given my line of work, there will be ample opportunity to study occurrences that happen along the way.”

Sherlock continued to pout but let the matter drop. He popped the kettle onto boil and got out a mug for coffee. “Would you like one?” he asked, hesitant as if he thought he might offend.

Mycroft cocked his head as he thought about this. He was no longer hungry thanks to the blood, but he still found the idea of coffee appealing. He didn’t _need_ human food anymore, but he could still enjoy it if he wished. “Actually, that would be lovely thanks.”

He saw Sherlock bite his lip gently as he thought hard. “White and one?” he ventured.

Mycroft smiled. “You remembered!”

His brother looked relieved and set about making the coffee and once it was done, they sat in a comfortable silence and enjoyed their brew. The vampire tried not to steal too many glances at Sherlock, but he found it hard not to - his brother was just so beautiful that he could hardly tear his eyes away from him. The last thing he wanted to do was to make his brother uncomfortable so the second time Sherlock caught him looking, he cleared his throat and stood up. “I’d best catch up on some paperwork. I’ll be in the study if you need me.”

“Oh, um, do you mind if I join you?” Sherlock asked, looking suddenly shy. “I’ll read a book or something so I won’t be any bother!”

He was momentarily taken aback but knew that Sherlock wanted to get back to how their relationship used to be. They had spent hours and hours as children studying and reading together so this was really no different. “Of course. You can read any book I have in my study.”

Sherlock gave him a warm smile and Mycroft felt his throat go dry at the sight. It was going to be a very long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things will start to develop between them soon!


	5. Allow Me To Draw Some Conclusions

Sherlock spent the day secretly observing Mycroft, and devouring a book on Vampirology he found on the shelf. His brother had done quite a decent job of outlining what would happen to him during The Change, but he had seemed to deliberately avoid speaking of the increased sexual appetite he would feel. Apparently as his body transitioned from human to vampire, his hormone levels would fluctuate wildly, especially testosterone, and the desire to copulate would become almost overwhelming. Family members were recommended to stay with a new vampire as the familial bonds would override those particular urges. He felt a pang in his chest at this, having concrete proof now that Mycroft felt nothing but brotherly affection for him. If he desired him in any capacity, Sherlock was positive that Mycroft would have refused to let him stay. As it was, he had happily accepted the offer and so it was clear he did not desire Sherlock in a sexual manner at all.

The younger man brooded over this quietly, all the while covertly observing Mycroft. He noticed that his brother had started to rub absently at his jaw, and the frequency only increased in the afternoon after he’d had more blood at lunchtime. When he was totally engrossed in his paperwork, he also completely forgot to breathe, but when he was addressing Sherlock, he seemed to make an effort to do so in order to appear more normal. The younger man found this part fascinating. His heart still pumped blood around his body but it no longer required oxygen. Scientists had yet to discover what exactly replaced the oxygen but theorised it was certain enzymes found only in vampires. Once Mycroft had undergone The Change entirely, Sherlock vowed to ask for a blood sample so he could do his own research into it.

The afternoon dwindled to a close and they made their way downstairs into the sitting room when Mycroft had completed all the paperwork he felt he needed to. He sent off a page to someone and then suggested a film. “Sounds good. I’m just going to make something for dinner though first.”

“Mmm, I noticed you haven’t eaten anything today,” Mycroft said, a hint of disapproval in his voice. “You simply must take better care of yourself, Lock.”

“I eat when I need to, My. Don’t worry about me.”

“I do little else.”

He refrained from making a barbed jibe about where that worry had been for the past five years, and held his tongue. He had been clear how hurt he had felt at his brother’s abandonment, and repeating it like a broken record wasn’t going to help them move forward. Instead he said, “I’ll heat some blood for you if you’d like while I’m there.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

He made his way into the kitchen and reheated some of the pasta he had made the previous night, then stood at the counter to eat it. He was fascinated by his brother’s reaction to the blood, and he didn’t want to be distracted by his own meal while Mycroft had his. 

His head snapped up at the sound of the doorbell and then two voices drifting down the hall. Whoever his brother had paged had obviously come to visit, most likely to pick up the paperwork he had been completing. From the peeks he’d managed to get, it was all to do with an account of his attack, but Sherlock hadn’t been able to read any of the details. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. He had seen the wounds on Mycroft’s throat and only some of them had been designed to turn him - the others had been simply to cause as much pain and torment as possible. 

Sherlock abandoned the rest of his meal, wanting to get a glimpse of who was over to visit. It was most likely the blonde vampire he had spied yesterday and he wanted to get a read on the man. He poured a bottle of blood into a large mug and popped it in the microwave, and then once it was done, carried it carefully through to the sitting room. 

He was right about the visitor and he ignored the large vampire as he made his way over to Mycroft and handed him the mug. “I heated it a little longer since it might cool before you can drink it,” he said sweetly, then deposited himself on the couch next to Mycroft in a possessive gesture, sitting closer than was necessary. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so on edge as there was no indication the stranger desired his brother in the slightest, but he felt the need to mark his territory (ignoring his traitorous brain that was reminding him that his brother wasn’t actually his). 

“Thank you, brother mine,” Mycroft said, accepting the drink. He beamed at his older brother and gave him a warm smile. “Sherlock, this is Jarel Hagen, a colleague of mine. Hagen, this is my brother, Sherlock.”

The blonde vampire nodded his head politely, but at Sherlock’s rather haughty look in return, his eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s nice to meet you,” he still managed to say cordially.

Sherlock waved a hand imperiously. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Much to Sherlock’s chagrin, the vampire merely looked amused. “I must say, until this whole business, I didn't know you had a brother, Holmes,” he said to Mycroft.

“Yes, well, I do what I can to keep my family safe.” He had placed the cup down on the coffee table but was stealing distracted glances at it, not noticing the tension in the air.

“An admirable goal, but one I’m afraid that isn’t always possible.” The vampire met Sherlock’s eyes with a meaningful expression.

Not one to shie away from a challenge, Sherlock decided to get in a few jibes while he could. He looked closely at the vampire, finding him as easy to deduce as a regular human. “I’m sure you’d not know about that, not having a family of your own. Of course, the regulars at the underground gambling ring you frequent might count as the closest thing to family you have. None of them are what you’d call upstanding citizens though - thieves, criminals, and probably the odd murderer amongst them, so you’d likely fit right in.”

“ _ Sherlock _ !” Mycroft admonished. “Don’t be so disrespectful!”

“Why?”

“Because as observant as you think you are, you cannot deduce Hagen’s complete history and you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He pouted at his brother’s chastising, and leaned back sulkily against the back of the couch, folding his arms across his chest. “Whatever.”

“Forgive him, please,” his brother said to the vampire. “He’s still so young and can’t see beyond himself.”

Hagen just looked amused. “It’s no problem, Holmes.” He turned to face Sherlock. “You’re quite correct, boy - I  _ don’t  _ have a family. Not anymore. They all died two hundred years ago. You can judge me for my pastimes if you wish, but know that I socialise with the very worst of humanity deliberately. It’s so I don't grow attached to any of them. You outlive enough people and soon learn that the pain of losing them isn’t worth having those connections. That’s a harsh lesson your brother will learn as well - probably when he’s standing over your grave.” The blonde vampire stood up, clutching the file of papers Mycroft had given him. “I won’t keep you from your dinner any longer, Holmes,” he said, nodding his head at the rapidly cooling blood. “Don’t forget to order more. Sherlock, why don’t you walk me out?”

It wasn’t a request and he found himself nodding and getting to his feet, following the blonde to the door. Hagen stepped through it and then turned to regard the youngest Holmes brother. “I don’t quite know what game you’re playing with your brother,” he said, more gently than Sherlock was expecting, “but it won’t end well for either of you. These are trying times for him, and he will be fighting impulses that are unnatural and foreign to him. I’ve worked closely with Holmes since he was recruited and I like to think I know him well, but The Change can make men act in ways they normally wouldn’t -  _ do things _ they normally wouldn’t. Don’t lead him into doing anything you’ll both regret once he’s through the other side and thinking more clearly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sherlock declared, trying to sound bored instead of terrified like he actually was.

Hagen raised an eyebrow and looked at him as if to say ‘ _ I’m not stupid _ ’. “I’ve lived a long time, Sherlock, and have seen a lot of things. Nothing shocks me or surprises me anymore, and I have learned not to judge. Those flirty little pouts of yours, the way you batter your eyelashes at him, that little display of possessiveness - if you’re wanting him to fuck you, you’re going about it the right way. Your brother is going to be surviving on instinct the next few days, listening to his body and the chemicals that will be flooding his system - not to his rational brain. It won’t take much to get him to ignore his usual morals and do what you want. But it won’t be him. When the fog of The Change clears and he’s back to thinking how he normally does, he’ll react the way he usually would. If you’ve coerced him into doing something he normally wouldn’t, then you’ll have to deal with the consequences.” The vampire looked sad. “I know he won’t blame you. I may have only learned of your existence yesterday, but it’s clear he dotes on you. He’ll take all the blame, all the guilt, and pile it on himself. It will be unbearable for him and I think it will send him into a spiral of self destructive behaviour in order to pay penance for what he believes is a terrible atrocity committed against you. If you care for him at all, please don’t do this. You’ll destroy whatever brotherly love there is between you and lose him forever.” He swallowed hard and then reached over and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. “Think about that, lad. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon to check on him again…” Though if this was a warning or just information, Sherlock couldn’t tell. The vampire disappeared into the darkness and left Sherlock alone on the front step.

He stood there for a long time, torn. Half of himself was ecstatic, thinking that he actually had a chance to be with Mycroft and to explore these new feelings that were welling inside of him, even if it was just briefly. The other half was horrified at even thinking of going ahead with it - Hagen had essentially told him he’d be raping his brother, and that was not what he wanted to do. But would he be able to stop himself if Mycroft appeared to be willing? Would knowing that Mycroft would flinch from his touch at any other time be enough to stop himself from leaning into him if he seemed to want it? Sherlock was honest enough with himself to admit that he was incredibly selfish - he rarely put anyone above himself, but he wanted to think that he would put Mycroft’s welfare above his own. In the heat of the moment, when that intimacy was so close, could he do that? Would he be able to?

He didn’t reach any solid conclusions, just vague ideas of what he should do, but knowing he probably  _ wouldn’t _ . He sighed and then closed the door, making his way back inside. He stopped dead as he walked into the sitting room, seeing the blissed out look on Mycroft’s face as he slumped back on the couch, eyes closed. The drained mug was held loosely in his hand and a smear of red was on the corner of his lips. The urge to straddle him and kiss him clean washed over Sherlock and he swayed a little at the intensity. Mycroft opened his eyes and looked at him, seemingly not to care about how he must look. It was a marked difference to his hesitance that morning, and a clear indicator that his regular scruples were fading into the background. He placed the mug on the table and then patted the couch next to him. “Are we still going to watch a film?” he asked. Sherlock managed a smile and crossed over to the couch, and tried not to moan as Mycroft threw an arm over his shoulders and pulled him against him. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, Lock. I don’t think I’d want to go through this with anyone else.”

His mind screamed at him, telling him that this was essentially consent! His brother knew what could happen and  _ wanted _ him here. Had Sherlock gotten it wrong earlier? Perhaps Mycroft hadn’t sent him away because he wasn’t interested, but because he  _ was _ . Or was that just some twisted way of justifying to himself that he would most likely do what he wanted, consequences be damned? Struggling with moral dilemmas wasn’t something he usually did and he was floundering out of his depth. “I’m glad you want me here, too,” he managed to reply.

He thought Mycroft said something else, said it so quietly that it was barely a whisper, but he couldn’t be sure. It had sounded like, “ _ Always you _ ,” but was that just Sherlock’s own hopes speaking to him? He felt like his own brain was filled with a fog, keeping him from thinking clearly, but when Mycroft pulled him even closer and flicked on the television, he stopped thinking entirely and leaned into Mycroft’s embrace.

Sherlock had no idea which film they watched. He was entirely focussed on the points of connection between them and every tiny movement his brother made. When the credits rolled, he yawned widely and he heard Mycroft chuckle. “Bed time I think,” he said, ruffling Sherlock’s hair.

He nodded, already having decided what he was going to do. They got up from the couch and they went upstairs, but instead of turning into the guest room, he followed Mycroft into his own bedroom. At the questioning look thrown his way, he shrugged with forced nonchalance. “Since your nightmares are likely to continue, and sleeping in the same bed stopped them last night, I figure it best to do the same tonight.”

“I see.” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t decipher the expression on his brother’s face. He felt lost at sea, unsure if Mycroft was uncomfortable, excited, or just plain indifferent. 

Having established the sleeping arrangements, he gave a nod. “Right, well, I’ll go and get my things.”

“I’ll be in the shower. I won’t be long.”

Sherlock went back to his room, finding himself hard already at just the thought of Mycroft in the shower, naked and wet. He changed into his sleep pants and t shirt, then sat on the bed, reciting the Periodic Table to himself in order to control his body. The last thing he needed was to show up in Mycroft’s bedroom with a raging hard on. He wanted whatever happened to happen organically, though perhaps it  _ would _ be best if he initiated it? If he could show that  _ he _ had seduced  _ Mycroft _ , then perhaps his brother wouldn’t have a meltdown when he came to his senses?

Once he heard the water shut off in Mycroft’s ensuite, he went into the small bathroom down the hall and brushed his teeth. He took a few deep breaths and then flicked off the light and made his way down the hall to the master bedroom. Mycroft was making sure the curtains were drawn the entire way, not wanting to be blinded in the morning by the sunlight. Without making a big deal of it, Sherlock slipped into the bed, burrowing down in the soft sheets. His brother turned, and with just a moment’s hesitation, joined him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos so far. I really appreciate it and it helps keep me motivated :) You guys are the best!


	6. Let Me Love You

Mycroft stood under the hot spray of the shower and silently berated himself. He was losing control, he could feel it slipping from his grasp. Ever since he’d had the first sip of blood this morning, he had felt himself start to slide, to lose his firm grip on his senses. It had gotten stronger the more he drank, but he couldn’t stop drinking. He’d had three bottles today, and already he craved more. His jaw ached almost constantly and he found his eyes drawn again and again to the fluttering pulse at Sherlock’s throat. It wasn’t the need to feed from that delectable skin, but to kiss and nuzzle against it, to bite and lay claim, to have his brother, all of him, in every way. 

Sherlock had been so trusting, allowing him to be close whilst watching the movie, being so attentive and caring, even offering to share a bed again to keep the nightmares at bay. And instead of saying no, keeping that distance, he’d not even fought against him, just agreed. His whole body seemed to be tingling, vibrating with the need to  _ take, take, take _ . His cock hung heavy between his legs, having been semi-erect for the entire day, and pressure was building in his jaw. He knew his fangs were hovering just beneath the surface, waiting to break through and he wished they would just come out already. At least then it might distract him from the overpowering desire he felt for the beautiful young man who just happened to share the same parents. 

He finally stepped out of the shower and dried off, pulling on his sleep clothes. Sherlock was seeing to his own ablutions so he pulled back the blankets and then fiddled with the curtains, ensuring they were closed all the way. He heard Sherlock enter the room, the steady, if slightly elevated, thrum of his heart sounding louder than a drum to Mycroft. He took several moments to steady himself, to stop from flinging himself on top of Sherlock and having his way with him, and then he too climbed into bed. Mycroft reached up and flipped the lamp off and they were plunged into darkness.

Except it wasn’t really all that dark. It took a moment or two for his eyes to adjust but he then found that he now had excellent night vision. He could clearly make out Sherlock next to him, staring up at the ceiling even though he himself would not be able to see it in the gloom. Mycroft could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and the way Sherlock was chewing on his bottom lip. There was a slight intake of breath and he saw Sherlock wince - he’d cut his lip. 

Then the smell hit him. Rich and enticing, the smell of fresh blood. Before he knew it, he had rolled over and pinned Sherlock to the bed, hovering over him, only inches from his face. It had happened so fast that neither brother was prepared for it, and he could see Sherlock’s eyes widen in fright. 

It was the look of fear that brought him to his senses. It was dark, and Sherlock didn’t realise that Mycroft could see him clearly, so he’d not even tried to hide the emotion as it clouded his face. He’d acted entirely on instinct, but it was the instincts of a monster, a being who would take without asking, of doing nothing but fulfilling its own desires. Mycroft went completely still and time seemed to stop as a long moment passed between them. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to gasp, and tried to move to the side, to let Sherlock go.

He was stopped by hands on him, preventing him from moving without hurting his brother. He stared down at Sherlock, realising that this close to, his brother could make out his face just slightly. “Please,” his brother whispered.

“Please?” he repeated, confused. “Please, what?”

And then Sherlock was leaning up and their lips were meeting in a clumsy kiss. 

He froze, unable to respond, and after a moment of hesitation, Sherlock slumped back down on the pillow, turning his face away, looking dejected. “Sorry,” he muttered, heartbroken.

The shock at his brother kissing him was suddenly overridden as he licked his lip and tasted the blood that had smeared on it. Jolts like electricity zapped through him and before he even knew what he was doing he was leaning down and crushing their lips together, holding Sherlock’s head still so he had no option but to return the kiss. For some reason, Sherlock responded with enthusiasm, small whimpering moans sounding from his throat as his hands reached up and grasped Mycroft’s shirt. He opened his mouth and Mycroft plunged his tongue inside, working its way around his brother’s hot mouth, then retreating to lick along his lip, probing against the cut, and lapping up the drops of blood that escaped it. Another moan filled the room and this time it had come from him. Sherlock bucked his hips, rutting against Mycroft’s thigh and he was startled to find that Sherlock was as hard as a rock. He pulled back and stared down at his brother in shock. “You want this?” he asked, bewildered.

“So much,” Sherlock replied, sounding breathless and wanton.

“But we’re brothers. It’s wrong.”

“I don’t care, My. I want this, I want you.”

“Even though I’m turning into a monster?”

He saw the eye roll and couldn’t help but smile at it. “You’re  _ not _ turning into a monster.  _ You _ could never be a monster. You will still be you, just...different.”

He hesitated, not wanting to push. “You’re sure?”

Sherlock sat up, pushing Mycroft back and then down, and he climbed up on top of him. “Listen to me very carefully, My, because I know that you’re not feeling quite like you at the moment and when you do, I want you to remember this very clearly. I’m doing this of my own free will because I want this. You haven’t coerced me, you haven’t forced me, or tricked me.  _ I want you _ . Do you understand.”

He nodded dumbly, unable to reply.

“Now, is this something  _ you _ want. Did you want it before you started The Change? I don’t want to take advantage of those crazy hormones of yours and have you change your mind later.”

Sherlock sounded so worried that Mycroft simply had to reassure him. He pulled him down and kissed him soundly, one of his hands threading its way into his curls. “I have wanted you for the longest time, Lock. Why do you think I ran away?”

“ _ Oh! _ ” As realisation dawned over Sherlock, the truth of his abandonment, he threw himself down flush against Mycroft and clung to him. “Why didn't you say anything?” he demanded.

Mycroft sighed and trailed a hand down Sherlock’s spine. “Because you were so young, Lock. I couldn’t do that to you…”

“I’m not so young anymore,” he whispered into his ear, then nipped at the lobe. 

He wasn’t. He was a grown man now, capable of making his own decisions. Their fate was sealed now and Mycroft moved his head to the side so he could capture Sherlock’s lips once more. The taste of blood lingered and the ache in his jaw got stronger, but he ignored it, not caring at the moment about the blood, just wanting, needing his brother. Their kisses were sloppy and awkward, neither having any experience, but they were perfect. He let his hands wander up and under Sherlock’s t shirt and he traced his fingers along every bump of his vertebrae. One of Sherlock’s hands was curled against the nape of his neck and the other clutched at Mycroft’s shirt, and all too soon the need to have skin against skin was too strong.

“Let’s get these off,” he suggested after breaking the kiss and plucking at Sherlock’s sleep top. 

His brother grinned and pulled it off over his head and tossed it to one side of the bed. Mycroft lifted a hand and traced over the pale skin of Sherlock’s chest, rubbing his thumb over the slightly darker area of one of his nipples. He saw Sherlock’s eyes close in bliss and so he took a little more time with the hardened peak. He drew him downwards so he could suck the nipple into his mouth, which of course brought Sherlock’s erection that much closer. It prodded against Mycroft’s  ribs and he reached over with one hand and rubbed him through his pants. There was a gasp from above and Sherlock’s heartbeat began to thump even faster.

“God, My,  _ please _ ,” Sherlock whimpered, the need in his voice shooting straight to Mycroft’s cock.

“Let me take care of you, Lock,” he whispered, pressing open mouthed kisses to his brother’s chest. He had no practical experience in taking care of someone’s sexual needs, but the rush of hormones surging through his blood sang to him, making him feel confident and powerful, and more than competent to look after the glorious creature before him. His brother nodded, and fell against him, giving himself over to the vampire, trusting him to look after him.

Mycroft flipped them again so he was once more hovering over the younger man and he licked over Sherlock’s throat, hearing as his brother’s breath caught at the sensation. His heartbeat quickened even more, this time a delicious tang of fear to the erratic  _ thump, thump, thump _ . He nipped playfully at his pulse point, causing Sherlock to shiver, and the ache in his jaw to become almost unbearable. He could almost smell the blood pumping through the veins and arteries  _ just _ beneath the delicate skin, and knew that even with regular human teeth, he could tear into it and drink his fill. 

But no, he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. Sherlock wasn’t an All-You-Can-Eat buffet, he wasn’t there to fill Mycroft’s stomach. He was there to be loved, and cherished, and  _ ravished _ . He moved his mouth away from the temptation of his throat, kissing his way downwards, across chest and ribs, stomach and hips, until he was at the waistband of Sherlock’s sleep pants. He tugged at them and his brother lifted his hips, allowing Mycroft to pull the material down over that plush arse and strip them inside out over his legs. He threw them to the side and then gazed down at the loveliness of his naked brother. He traced a finger over the pale skin and then leaned down to press a kiss to it. “So beautiful,” he murmured. “Utterly perfect, just for me.”

Sherlock squirmed a little at the praise and Mycroft captured his lips again for another kiss. Once he was done, he pulled away and then removed his own clothes, not wanting to be dressed when there was so much bare skin to press against. He draped himself across Sherlock, his brother’s skin so warm that it almost burned. Their erections lined up perfectly, their bodies neatly slotting together like they were designed specifically for this purpose. He rocked his hips and their lengths dragged together, and then he licked his palm and reached down so he could take them both in hand. There were other things they could do, but as this was the first sexual encounter for both of them, he decided it would be best if they kept it simple. 

It took several more licks of his palm to lubricate their cocks enough to make it comfortable, and soon they were both thrusting into the tight, wet grip of Mycroft’s fist. Their lips met again and they kissed deeply, growing more and more frantic as their pleasure began to build. 

“Fuck, My, you feel so good,” Sherlock said, panting against his mouth.

“So do you. I never thought I would have this but it’s better than I could ever have imagined.”

His brother turned his head away and the next words out of his mouth made Mycroft almost come on the spot. “Bite me.”

There was a sharp pain in his mouth and the space was suddenly much fuller, his fangs having dropped at the request of his lover. He groaned and leaned his head against Sherlock’s shoulder. “I can’t,” he cried, squeezing his eyes shut, unable to stop the rocking of his hips as their pricks dragged against each other.

“Why not?” Sherlock whined. “I want it. Please.”

He groaned again, his resolve weakening. “I don’t know if I can control myself, Lock.”

“You’d never hurt me - I trust you, My. Please,  _ bite me _ .”

That was it. The vampiric instincts that were building within him reached a peak and then crested, and without another thought his mouth dropped to Sherlock’s throat and after a cursory lick to the skin to feel for the pulse point beneath, he bit into that pale flesh, his new fangs piercing it like a hot knife through butter. The flavour of Sherlock’s blood flooded his mouth, a thousand times more delicious than the bottled blood he’d had that day. He swallowed the first mouthful even as his cock twitched and he spilled thick semen over his fist and Sherlock’s cock. He swallowed again, his brother’s strong heartbeat pumping his mouth full of thick, hot blood, and his orgasm seemed to go on and on, a never ending wave of pleasure. 

Sherlock arched his back, crying out as his own orgasm washed over him, and Mycroft held him close as he shuddered through it, still drinking from the wound on his neck. Once his pleasure had passed, Sherlock whimpered and tried to move away, his flesh now over sensitive. Mycroft let go of his spent cock and then retracted his fangs, the motion instinctual. It felt odd as they slipped back beneath his gums, not quite painful, but he ignored the feeling and concentrated instead on licking at the wound on Sherlock’s neck. He lapped up the excess blood, a special enzyme in his saliva enabling coagulation so the wound would close quickly. Once he was satisfied his brother had stopped bleeding, he rolled off him and slumped down, exhausted.

Sherlock reached over for his shirt and wiped at their bellies, cleaning off their mess, then he threw the soiled shirt onto the ground and curled up against Mycroft’s side. “That was amazing,” he said sleepily, but with a smile on his face.

Mycroft reached out and ran a hand through his curls. “It was indeed. Thank you.” He paused, not wanting to break the mood but needing to ask anyway. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

He felt Sherlock shake his head against his chest. “No - felt good. Odd, but good.”

He had read that for humans it could be a pleasurable experience, but he hadn’t quite believed it. It appeared he had no reason to be skeptical. “I’m glad. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Thank you for indulging me,” Sherlock fired back. “Now shush,” he said, reaching up and holding a finger to Mycroft’s lips. “Sleep now.”

He smiled against the finger and then pressed a kiss to it. “Of course, brother mine. You need your rest. Sleep well.”


	7. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd hoped to get this chapter published last night but we were without power the whole night thanks to an exuberant spring storm. Hope you enjoy!

Sherlock woke to eyes upon him. He blinked his eyes, bringing them into focus and then gave Mycroft a sleepy smile. “Morning,” he said quietly.

“Good morning,” his brother replied, his voice tender.

“Have you been awake long?”

“Several hours. I don’t require as much sleep as I once did.”

He frowned. “But you stayed here?”

“Of course.” Mycroft brushed cool fingers gently across Sherlock’s cheek. “Just because I was awake, doesn’t mean I wanted to be anywhere other than here.”

“Was it the sex that made you so sappy all of a sudden? Or are vampires just more sentimental than humans?”

He’d said it quite sarcastically but Mycroft seemed to take it seriously and gave it careful consideration. “It could very well be the hormonal imbalance I’m currently undergoing, but I’m sure I would feel close to this level of sentiment anyway. I  _ have _ wanted you for a few years now.”

Sherlock couldn’t help the bloom of warmth in his chest at those words. It helped so much to know that his brother hadn’t pushed him away because of something he’d done, but because he felt more for him than he should. Although his own feelings had only recently changed, the bond they had shared for years was so much deeper and stronger than most siblings, that this seemed like the most natural progression in the world. He decided that no more words were necessary and he pulled Mycroft close enough so he could kiss him again.

At the first touch of their lips he gasped and drew back suddenly. “My, you’re  _ freezing _ !” he exclaimed, reaching out and touching a finger to his brother.

Mycroft’s brows furrowed and he reached up to touch his own face. “I don’t feel cold,” he said. “But your skin feels very warm.”

Sherlock moved his hands, tracing down over his jaw, neck and then chest. “You’re cold all over - how can you not feel that?”

His brother looked a little self conscious. “It’s just part of The Change I suppose. I’m sorry if it bothers you.”

He shook his head. “No, not at all. It was just weird, that’s all. Now that I know what to expect, I’ll be fine.” To prove his point he took hold of Mycroft’s face in a firm grip and kissed him soundly. After a long moment his hold relaxed as the kiss developed into something deeper but also softer; gentle flicks of tongue, quiet sighs, and shared breath. The difference in their temperatures took some getting used to but the more he touched, the more it only heightened the soft feel of Mycroft’s smooth skin, the taut muscles beneath, the slight tremor of his limbs. It wasn’t long before his cock was hard and aching against his stomach and the need for release was strong, but the desire to explore every inch of his brother’s changing body was even stronger. 

Sherlock rolled them so Mycroft was on his back and he gazed down at him, his breath catching slightly at the sight. How had he been blind for so many years? Perhaps it was the idea of brotherly love was so ingrained in his psyche that he could never see past the fact that Mycroft was his sibling to appreciate the man beneath. He was breathtakingly gorgeous, all lithe limbs, pale skin, freckles, and the most expressive blue eyes that the younger man could just lose himself in forever. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, not caring how sentimental it sounded. He then began to kiss his way down Mycroft’s throat while one hand brushed over the skin of his chest, his thumb finding a nipple and working it until it formed a hard little peak. He moved his mouth over to it, breathing over the nub, knowing that his breath must feel hotter than usual. He then sucked it into his mouth, laving his tongue over it, enjoying the bitten off moans that escaped from his brother’s mouth.

He eventually let the nipple go and then moved to its twin, lavishing the same attention on it. He hands were not idle, trailing their way south, caressing his stomach, hips, and thighs, but avoiding Mycroft’s throbbing cock for now. There was plenty of time for explorations and he didn't want it to be over too soon. Hearing the breathy moans, the gasps, and sighs, and feeling the way his brother’s body trembled and occasionally bucked under him fed his desire to take Mycroft apart and then put him back together, piece by piece. 

He kissed his way down from the hard nipple, moving down to the protruding hip bone and dipping his tongue into the hollow above it. He then worked his way across Mycroft’s stomach, pressing his nose into the softness of his belly, twirling his tongue around his bellybutton, and then continuing until he was licking the hollow on the other side. Mycroft gasped, louder this time and the thick cock lying against his stomach gave a twitch. “Lock, please,” he begged, his hands clutching at the sheets to either side.

Sherlock ignored the plea and kissed his way down one pale thigh, his tongue darting out to drag along the taut muscle. By the time he had made it down over Mycroft’s knee, along his shin, and to the slim ankles, his brother was positively mewling. He grinned, enjoying reducing the vampire to a moaning mess more than he thought he would, but deciding to play nice and stop teasing. He moved upwards, trailing his hands adoringly over the long, long legs, and then coming to a halt at his groin. Sherlock leaned forward and breathed over the hard cock, watching as it twitched and dribbled fluid from the tip. He stuck his tongue out and licked over the head experimentally, having never given or received oral sex before. The taste was salty and a little bitter but paled in comparison to the way the cool flesh felt on his hot tongue. He knew that his own cock became almost hot when flooded with blood, but Mycroft’s remained cool to the touch. Reaching up to lay a hand on his stomach, Sherlock noted it was slightly warmer than the rest of his brother’s skin, but not by much. 

Ignoring the visual his mind was supplying of an iced lolly, he licked his way up and down the shaft a few times, and then wet his lips and took the head fully inside his mouth. Mycroft gasped and his hips bucked, pushing himself a little further into the younger man’s mouth. His cock hit the back of Sherlock’s throat and he pulled back, coughing and choking. 

“Fuck, sorry, Lock!” Mycroft cried, sitting up and grabbing him by the biceps. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock cleared his throat once the spasms from his gag reflex had passed and managed a crooked smile. “Yeah, ‘course. Just took me by surprise is all.” He pushed Mycroft back down and held him down, ignoring the protest that he didn’t have to continue. He spent a few moments licking along the shaft again, dipping his head down and sucking at the heavy sac below, and then he once again opened his mouth wide and took his brother’s cock into his mouth. It was an amazing feeling - velvety smooth but firm at the same time, and he bobbed his head, taking it a little further in each time. He grew more and more confident, the sounds Mycroft was making urging him on. Then suddenly there were hands in his hair and his brother’s strained voice gasping, “I’m close,” and he knew that now was the point where he needed to pull away if he wanted to. Sherlock had never been one to take things slow and so he pushed on, hollowing his cheeks to add a little extra suction. There was a grunt from above and the hips he was holding onto trembled and then his mouth was flooded with hot, salty liquid.

It was the texture more than the taste that was his undoing. He tried to swallow but found himself gagging and suddenly a handful of tissues was being shoved into his hand and he spit the ejaculate into them. He blushed furiously and tried to avoid Mycroft’s eyes but his brother pulled him close and cupped his jaw so he couldn’t look away. “So typical of you, Lock - trying to run before you can walk.” There was a twinkle in his eyes and his lips quirked in amusement. He leaned forward and kissed him. 

“I’ll do better next time,” Sherlock vowed as they pulled apart.

“This is new to both of us so it’s not like we have expectations to live up to. I only want you to do what you feel comfortable doing, what you enjoy, what feels  _ good _ .”

“I  _ did _ enjoy it. I just wasn’t quite prepared…”

Mycroft smiled again and captured his mouth in another kiss. He was grinning when he broke it. “Well now, we can’t have it that you have more experience than me in such matters so I believe it’s  _ my _ turn to take care of you.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “But My?”

“Yes?”

“If you bite my dick, I’ll never forgive you.”

oOoOo

Mycroft went to open the door, smiling at Hagen as the large vampire took in his appearance. “You’re looking better than I expected,” he observed as he stepped inside. “You’ve had no trouble drinking the blood then?”

Mycroft shook his head, closing and locking the door by habit behind his guest. He gestured for him to go down to the living room and followed behind. “I had three bottles yesterday and another this morning. I have another delivery scheduled for this afternoon.”

“That’s good to hear. If you can, try and drink a few more today. The Change will be taking its toll on your body and you’ll need the stamina a few extra pints provides.”

He inclined his head to this advice and they sat themselves down, Hagen in an armchair with the new vampire taking the couch. “I’ll make it a priority.”

“So, what have you experienced so far?”

“Respiration had ceased, my core temperature has dropped by roughly five degrees, I needed less than four hours of sleep last night and felt as refreshed as if I had slept soundly the entire night, and I have noticed a marked improvement in my vision and hearing.”

“That sounds quite normal. Have you been having pain in your jaw at all?”

“Oh! I almost forgot to mention that my fangs dropped last night.”

Hagen’s eyes narrowed. “Already? That generally doesn’t happen so quickly, unless…” He trailed off and looked suspiciously around the room. “Is your brother still here?”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, he’s in the study.”

“May I speak with him?”

Seeing no reason as to why he shouldn’t allow it, Mycroft got up and went to the base of the stairs, calling for his brother. He heard a muffled response and returned to the sitting room. “He’ll be down in a moment.”

The vampire grunted and then with what seemed great effort, asked another question. “How are your injuries? I see you no longer have the cast.”

Mycroft held up his hand and shook his head in wonder. “It appears to be fully healed, along with the rest of me. It’s truly remarkable. Of course, the price will be high…” At the moment he was noticing all the benefits of The Change but knew that the cons would soon become evident - potential bloodlust, having to keep his new reality a secret from almost everyone, being hunted by his own kind for siding with humans, and worst of all, outliving everyone he knew. He took a deep breath and told himself that he would cross those bridges when he came to them. 

Sherlock stepped into the room, a small smile on his lips as his eyes met Mycroft’s. His hair was still slightly tangled, his lips still kiss swollen, and his eyes glazed from their earlier tryst. Hagen’s eyes however went straight to Sherlock’s t shirt, slightly too big for him and gaping at the neck, revealing a large bruise and clear fang marks. So fast that Mycroft almost missed it, the large vampire was across the room, a hand around his brother’s throat and was slamming him against the wall.

“ _ I told you _ !” he raged. “I told you not to be selfish, that once The Change passes you will regret this! You stupid, selfish, brat of a human!”

A feral snarl ripped from Mycroft’s throat and his vision went red. He was off the couch and across the room in two steps and he yanked his colleague off his brother and shoved him across the room. He crowded Sherlock against the wall, standing protectively in front of him in a low crouch, glaring at Hagen. “Don’t lay another finger on him if you want to remain standing,” he growled.

The older vampire stood tall before him but held his hands out placatingly. “Mycroft, you’re not thinking straight right now. Your body is riddled with hormones and it’s causing you to make decisions you normally wouldn’t. It might be best if your brother comes with me and we get someone else to stay with you.”

“You will not lay a fucking finger on him, do I make myself clear?” he hissed, taking a step backwards so he was closer to Sherlock. He could feel the heat of him at his back and a familiar hand held onto his hip. 

“Mycroft, he’s your  _ brother _ ,” Hagen tried again. “Are you really comfortable having this sort of relationship with him?”

“You  _ dare _ judge  _ me _ ?”

The vampire huffed out a sigh. “Of course I’m bloody not! I told your brother yesterday that I’ve seen enough over my life to not be phased by  _ anything _ let alone something as tame as incest. But that doesn’t mean that  _ you _ won’t be when you’re thinking clearly.”

The words weren’t cutting through his angry fog but the tone started to. Hagen was just protecting him, making sure he wouldn’t have regrets. Of course he wouldn’t have seen Mycroft’s true feelings - vampires could be as unobservant as humans. Slowly the red mist in front of his eyes began to clear and he allowed himself to straighten slightly from his aggressive stance. “These feelings for Sherlock are not the result of The Change but are ones I have carried with me for many years,” he finally said, his voice defiant despite Hagen’s assurances that he wasn’t judging. “I appreciate the sentiment but your concern is unfounded.”

The blonde vampire held his eyes for a long moment, and then turned and returned to take his position on the armchair. “Have you experimented as yet with your venom sacs?” he asked almost casually.

Now that the immediate threat to Sherlock was gone, Mycroft led his brother over to the couch and they both sat. He wrapped an arm protectively around the younger man’s slender shoulders and curled him against him. “From what I have read, I won’t be able to use them for several days,” he ventured.

“According to what is written, your fangs shouldn’t have dropped as yet either. It seems though that external influences are affecting the rate of The Change.” He gave Sherlock a pointed look, but it was lacking the fierceness from before. He suddenly sighed and rubbed at his face. “Just do some experimenting, okay? The last thing you want to do is accidentally turn your brother while having a mid-romp snack. It can take a while to get the hang of the different bite techniques.”

Sherlock had gone very still at these words but Mycroft was still too distracted by his protective urges to be able to correctly deduce the reason. He made a mental note to question him about it later. “I honestly appreciate the advice,” he told Hagen.

“Yeah, well, I just hope it’ll be enough.” He softened it with a smile. “Right, got any questions? You seem to be adjusting fairly well given the circumstances but I know how your mind works.”

Mycroft huffed out a laugh. “I do have a million questions but none of them are urgent for now.”

“Right.” Hagen pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll leave you to it then. Just one final word of advice though - from a friend.” He waited for Mycroft’s nod of assent before he offered it. “Don’t drink from your brother again until The Change is complete. It makes the process too unpredictable. It’s already wandered from the path we expected it to take and any further afield and things might get dangerous for you.” 

Mycroft swallowed hard but agreed. “I won’t.”

The vampire gave him one last smile and then turned to leave, waving him away. “I can find my own way out. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

They watched him go and once they heard the door close, Mycroft slumped down onto the couch. 

“I’m sorry if I caused you trouble,” Sherlock said quietly, pressing himself back close against his brother’s side.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he assured him, lifting a hand to card through Sherlock’s curls. “He would have found out eventually so it’s best to get it out in the open now. What did he mean though, about talking to you yesterday?”

“Oh. that.” The younger man squirmed, as if embarrassed. “When I walked him out, he confronted me, said he could tell I was trying to seduce you. He warned me off it, saying that once you were back to thinking clearly I could lose you forever and shouldn’t push it.”

“And yet you still kissed me,” he mused.

Sherlock huffed. “Of  _ course _ I did - when have I ever taken advice from someone who isn’t you?”

Mycroft chuckled and turned his head to kiss his temple. “This is true. It was a gamble though - if I didn't feel this way about you, Hagen could very well have been right. You could have risked everything.”

He felt his brother shake his head. “No, Hagen could never have been right about that. Even if you didn't want me like this, I can’t ever imagine you turning your back on me.”

He was touched by the sheer conviction in Sherlock’s voice, the absolute trust he had in Mycroft’s brotherly feelings for him. “It’s generous of you to think that considering I  _ did _ turn my back on you  _ because _ of my feelings.”

“It’s in the past now, My. Let’s just look to the future.”

The future. It sounded nice, until he thought far enough ahead to see a time when Sherlock grew old and grey and eventually passed. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face as Sherlock squeezed him tightly. “It doesn’t have to be how you’re imagining,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?” Mycroft asked, his voice hoarse.

“I don’t have to ever leave you; I wouldn’t have to die. You could make me a vampire, too.”

Mycroft gaped at him, unable to keep the horror off his face. Turn his baby brother into a vampire? He could think of nothing worse. “Sherlock,  _ no _ ,” he said vehemently. “You don’t understand what you speak of. I could never,  _ would _ never make you into a monster like I have become. I won’t do that to you!”

“But you’re  _ not _ a monster, My! And think of how much longer we would have together. We would never have to be parted.”

“Lock, you say that now, but you’re still young and this is so new. People don’t stay together forever anymore - what happens when you grow bored of me and move on to someone else? What happens then when you then have to watch them grow old and die? You’ll hate me forever, resent what I made you become.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “You’re wrong. Yes, I’m young, and yes, this is all new, but I know my own mind. It has  _ always _ been you and me, My. Adding sex to the equation doesn’t change that. Besides, even if we hadn’t gone down this path, I’d  _ still _ want you to change me. As simply my brother, or as my lover, I want to be with you forever.”

It was said with conviction, but Mycroft still resolutely shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lock, but please don’t ask this of me. I don’t want to say no to you, but in this my decision is firm. I cannot do this.” His heart broke a little at the look of rejection on his brother’s face. “I’m sorry I can’t give you this, I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t want to be with me forever? Is that it?” Said in such a small voice that it physically pained him. Sherlock had had a deep, rumbling baritone since his voice broke at fourteen and its absence was louder than words.

“That’s not it at all, Lock!” Mycroft exclaimed, pulling his brother to him in a crushing embrace. “You only see the good things right now, but in time you will see that I  _ am _ a monster now. Vampires are dangerous, bloodthirsty creatures who can cause so much harm. I will not turn you into such a creature. You are goodness and light and I don’t ever want to change that.”

Sherlock snorted angrily but didn't pull away from his hold. “Goodness and light? Do you even  _ know _ me anymore, My?”

It stung, but Mycroft could not deny it was the truth - they had been estranged for years now and neither really did know the other. He had known the fifteen year old Sherlock better than he had known himself but how much had changed since then? For both of them. Still, he was positive that no matter how much Sherlock had changed, his very essence would not have. He may have been snarky and sarcastic, sullen and sulky, but he was still at his core a curious soul who laughed loudly and loved deeply. Anything else was just packaging. “Perhaps not as well as I once did, but I believe I still know you enough,” he countered. He sighed then, a horrible thought occurring to him. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Lock, and I understand if my refusal in this has changed your mind over wanting to be with me. I can see how our differences could be too much…” He was cut off by lips plastered to his and his eyes went wide.

When Sherlock pulled back he fixed Mycroft with a glare. “Yes, I am upset with you, but there is nothing,  _ nothing _ , that can make me change my mind about us, My.”

Relief flooded through him. “I am more happy than you can know to hear that.”

“Look, let’s just do something else for now, yeah?” Sherlock suggested. “Watch a movie, or read. Something to distract us.”

Taking it for the olive branch it was, Mycroft nodded and pressed a kiss to his lips. “A movie sounds good. How about you choose one?”

“Oh, of course  _ I’m _ choosing,” his brother retorted. “Otherwise it would be a rubbish choice.”

He laughed and pinched Sherlock’s bum as he stood to get off the couch and as his brother yelped and skipped away, the new vampire allowed himself to relax slightly into the couch. He knew this wouldn’t be the end of this conversation, but he was grateful for a temporary respite. He needed to prepare himself for the battle ahead. 


	8. The Monster Within

Sherlock shivered as he stood in front of the chilled fridge in the supermarket, analysing the packages of meat before him. He had told Mycroft he would find him something suitable to test his fangs on and figured a juicy steak would be just the ticket. He had questioned the vampire who had delivered the bottles that afternoon just what sort of blood it was and had discovered that it was animal blood - either cow or pig. He supposed that made sense - supplies of human blood for transplants was scarce enough as it was without being used to feed a horde of hungry vampires. When he mentioned this to the vampire he had barked out a short laugh and had compared the bottled blood to tofu for humans - it was a suitable substitute for meat but nothing beat the real deal. It had answered Sherlock’s query well enough however - a raw steak should be palatable enough for his brother.

As he looked at the various cuts, trying to decide which one would be the most suitable, he absently reached up and rubbed at his neck. The bruising had deepened which served to hide the bite marks themselves but left an extremely large hickey behind. He looked up and noticed an old woman staring at him, her eyes narrowed in distaste. He glared at her until she huffed and left, moving down to the fridge that held the chicken. He rolled his eyes and then turned back to the cabinet.

He finally decided on filet steak. It was expensive since it wouldn’t even be eaten but Sherlock figured it was thick and tender enough to be the closest substitute for human flesh and Mycroft would appreciate the effort. He was still hoping to change his brother’s mind about Changing him but knew that for now he wouldn’t budge. If the new vampire did it by accident, he would never forgive himself and the last thing Sherlock wanted to do was to send Mycroft into a downward spiral of guilt and self loathing. They still had years ahead of them and perhaps once Mycroft had had time to adjust to his new form, he would come to see that he  _ wasn’t _ a monster and he wouldn’t be turning his baby brother into one either. For now, Sherlock vowed to be as helpful and supportive as he could be. 

He paid for the meat and then walked the short distance back to Mycroft’s house, losing himself in thoughts of their night spent together. He was amazed - but not surprised - at how natural it had seemed; at how well they fit together; at how perfectly they gelled. He was sure that some part of him should be freaking out, panicking about the major taboo they had breached and the repercussions of their actions, but he found he was too happy to care. Mycroft had always felt like the only person that could ever understand him, who could give him what he needed, and taking that one step further into a physical relationship just made sense. It wasn’t normal but they had  _ never been  _ normal so why should they change now? Sherlock was  _ happy _ for the first time since Mycroft had distanced himself when he was fifteen and he never wanted to lose that connection with his brother again.

He allowed his mind to drift to tonight, to what activities they could get up to once they were in bed. Mycroft hadn’t said anything specifically, but Sherlock got the feeling that his brother wanted to take things slowly. Neither of them had experience in these matters and they would be exploring and learning together. There was no need to rush, he just had to get a hold of his excitement. He wanted to do everything  _ now _ but he knew it would be better if they took their time. At least he could practise some more of what they had gotten up to this morning. He knew he had embarrassed himself a little bit with his performance and wanted nothing more than to master the art of blowing Mycroft. Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to work on that particular skill set.

He was only a short distance away from the house when his attention was caught by a car parked across the road. At first glance it didn't look out of the ordinary, but then he noticed two men sitting in the front, slumped rather low. They were wearing dark sunglasses and from what he could see, suits. As soon as one noticed Sherlock staring, the ignition turned over and the car quickly pulled away. He frowned as he watched it speed off, debating whether he should bring it up with his brother or not. He supposed it was likely that the agency was keeping a watch on Mycroft since he hadn’t officially pledged his allegiance to them in his new form as yet, or perhaps it was protection? The attire certainly looked rather official since the Secret Service could be rather blatant at times. He decided to hold off saying anything but would bring it up quietly with Hagen when the vampire arrived next time. It was probably nothing and Sherlock didn't want Mycroft to think he was descending into paranoia.

The house was quiet when he got back and he found Mycroft in the kitchen, two empty bottles in front of him and a hand rubbing at his distended tummy. “I drank too much,” he whined in a sad voice.

Sherlock couldn’t help but laugh and he crossed to his brother and planted a kiss on his lips, ignoring the metallic taste of the blood that lingered there. “Awww, did my poor vampire have too much blood?” he asked in the most condescending tone he could manage whilst he patted Mycroft’s rosy cheek.

The vampire glared but there was no heat in it. “Hagen said I should drink extra and one wouldn’t think that  _ liquid _ would be so filling.”

“I guess it’s all the protein.”

His brother grunted and continued to rub at his sore belly. It was rather adorable but Sherlock knew that if he voiced that opinion, the authorities would never find his body. He pulled the meat from the plastic shopping bag and decided to pop it away in the fridge for now, doubting Mycroft would feel up for experimenting on food just yet. He held out a hand and when Mycroft took it, led him through to the sitting room. They settled onto the couch and once their limbs were tangled nicely, Sherlock picked up the books they had left there earlier and handed over the terribly boring tome on Medieval Feudal Systems to his brother. He found his place in the Asimov he was reading and then they spent the last hours of daylight lost in their books. 

As the light faded from the window and it got harder for his human eyes to pick out the words, Sherlock felt his attention shift from his book to the connection between himself and Mycroft. They had shuffled about not long ago and Sherlock ended up between the vampire’s legs, his back pressed against his chest. Mycroft was holding his book in one hand, leaning it on top of the couch but his other hand was idly tracing its way over Sherlock’s chest and stomach. The touch was distracting enough that even if the light had remained good, Sherlock most likely wouldn’t have been able to continue reading. Mycroft seemed content to continue with his book though so Sherlock kept hold of his novel with one hand and with the other began to drag his fingers up and down Mycroft’s leg.

He shifted a little to get more comfortable, and found his arse pressing right against Mycroft’s groin and there could be no ignoring the hardness that was pressing against him. He heard Mycroft’s sharp intake of breath and feeling mischievous, he wiggled his arse a little so he was rubbing against his brother. Mycroft went very still and for a long moment, Sherlock thought that perhaps his actions weren’t welcome. Then suddenly there was a growl in his ear and hands were on his hips. Before he knew what or how it had happened he had been flipped onto his back and the new vampire was straddling him, his eyes dark and dangerous with not only desire, but hunger. There was a slick sound and fangs descended from his gums to rest against his bottom lip.

Sherlock gulped and felt a shiver of fear ripple through him. Looking into those familiar blue eyes, something unfamiliar looked back and he suddenly understood Mycroft’s fears a little better. Darkness lurked within his brother now and it was about to be unleashed.

oOoOo

The tightness of his stomach began to ease and now that the discomfit had passed, Mycroft found himself enjoying the afternoon much more. When Sherlock rearranged himself so he was sitting against him, he felt himself relax even more and as he read, cradling the book in both hands to one side of the younger man.

Slowly, so slow that he didn't notice at first, Mycroft felt heat begin to wash over him. He paused his eyes mid-sentence and turned his attention inwards, trying to determine what was happening. When his core temperature had dropped, he hadn’t noticed a difference in himself, so the fact that he now  _ felt _ heat wash through him must mean something. He scrutinised himself in depth but other than being hyper aware of his brother pressed against him, he didn’t feel any different. There was no pain, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and he didn’t feel ill or sick. Dismissing it as just another side effect of The Change, he went back to his reading.

After a while he realised that one of his hands had dropped down without him noticing to caress Sherlock’s chest and he became distracted from his reading by the feel of the taut muscles beneath his fingers, and the way Sherlock’s heart rate increased and then seemed to skip a beat as he allowed his hand to drop lower onto his stomach. His cock grew hard and he fought the urge to thrust up, to rut against his brother’s arse and simply  _ take _ . Mycroft forced his eyes back to his book, trying to distract himself so they could just enjoy a leisurely afternoon.

His plan worked up until Sherlock began to trail a hand up and down his leg. It was a chaste touch all things considered but it felt like electricity shooting through his limb, every point of contact sparking and tingling. He hadn’t thought it possible but his cock grew even harder and the trousers he wore started to feel too constricting. He wanted to rip them off, and then tear off Sherlock’s, to leave them bare, flesh pressed against flesh. He wanted to spread Sherlock’s legs and push himself inside, to pin him down and take his pleasure, to latch onto his neck and drink his fill, to have Sherlock squirming and screaming beneath him.

Mycroft shook his head, trying to dismiss the images his mind had concocted, but it was so hard. The urge to  _ takefuckdrinkownpossess _ was almost overwhelming, and he fought to regain control over his own mind. This wasn’t him. He never wanted to hurt Sherlock, so why were images of him struggling, fighting, resisting making his cock twitch? Why did he want to look down and see fear in those eyes, to see the pulse in his throat beat erratically just before his fangs sank through the skin to fill his mouth with his hot blood? 

He squeezed his eyes shut and took an unneeded breath, using the action to try and claw back control. It’s just the hormones, he told himself; chemicals flooding his body and making him feel like this. It wasn’t  _ him _ . As much as he told Sherlock he was turning into a monster, he had clung to the hope that he wouldn’t lose himself completely, that he would master the beast within and force it to behave. The next few days would be the worst of it so if he could maintain control until then, he knew he would win, would beat the beast into submission. 

The only problem was that  _ right now _ it wasn’t the beast he wanted to force into submission.

God, he loved Sherlock so much - even though he hadn’t told him yet - and he knew, deep in his heart, that he would never hurt him. Why then was his body fighting him, wanting to take and bite and possess? If he allowed himself to let go, to do what his body was demanding he do, would he hurt Sherlock? If his brother struggled and said no, would he press on anyway? Forcefully take something that wasn’t freely given? His mind was screaming at him that he couldn’t hurt his brother this way, but when Sherlock shuffled backwards, his plush arse pushing against Mycroft’s erection, his body silenced his mind, ignoring its pleas. 

When his damnable brother started to  _ wiggle _ against him, the last thread of his self control snapped and before he realised he’d even done it, he had lifted Sherlock and pinned him beneath him on the couch. As his eyes took in the wildly fluttering pulse in his throat, the vampire felt his fangs descend, thirsting for the blood that pumped just beneath the surface. Blue-green eyes were wide with fright and the younger man went unnaturally still, frozen as the truth of his older brother’s new nature sank in. The beast registered the stillness as compliance, willingness, the absence of a struggle indicating there wouldn’t be one, and a snarl ripped from his mouth at being denied the fight. He wanted the body beneath him to buck and claw, to fight for freedom so when Mycroft finally sank inside the glorious heat, the human would fully realise just how powerless he was. When the vampire exploded his release inside of him, he would know that he now belonged to the superior being, was nothing more than a possession, marked as his and only his, to be used as Mycroft wished. 

There was a whimper and the beast smiled, leaning down to sniff along the sharp jawline of the human beneath him. “ _ Mine _ ,” he hissed, allowing his fangs to drag along the skin. His cock pulsed fluid from the tip as the body beneath him trembled at the sensation of sharp fangs just inches from an artery. Another whimper, pained this time, as one of the vampire’s hands tightened its hold on the wrists he had pinned above the human’s head. So weak, so vulnerable, so  _ easily taken _ . Was it no wonder vampires were meant to rule? To use the humans as cattle? Using his free hand, he clutched at the shirt the human wore and in one swift movement, ripped it clean off his chest. There was a yelp, and the body under him tried to squirm away, but the vampire holding him down was too strong to allow him to break free. There was only a thin layer of muscle between the frantically beating heart and the delicate skin and the vampire’s eyes were drawn to it, the urge to sink his fangs through to suck directly from the organ growing stronger by the second. 

Another frantic wiggle and another whimper, but this time the human managed to speak through his fear. “My,  _ please _ ,” it said. 

Something inside recognised that voice and like a dam wall breaking, it all flooded back, washing away the beast and depositing Mycroft back into himself. He froze, horrified at what he had almost done and then with a small, pitiful cry, he scrambled off his brother and threw himself across the room. With the wall at his back, he slid down to the ground, a hand reaching up to cover his mouth in horror. “Lock, I’m so sorry, so so sorry,” he babbled. 

Sherlock sat up on the couch, rubbing at his wrists and breathing hard. He couldn’t meet Mycroft’s eyes for a long moment and the vampire thought, “ _ This is it - this is the part where he leaves. _ ” But then, to his surprise and wonder, Sherlock gave a decisive nod of his head, as if he was agreeing with some internal conversation, and then he stood (on slightly shaky legs) and crossed the room to where his brother sat. He put his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders, then straddled his lap and sat down, bringing their faces level.

“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked in a hoarse voice.

The younger man leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the sharp angle of Mycroft’s jaw. “What does it look I’m doing?” he asked, voice low and linking his arms around his brother’s neck and shuffling forward until his bare chest was pressing against Mycroft. “I’m continuing what we started before we were rudely interrupted by whatever  _ that _ was.” His lips continued to move as he spoke, hot breath tingling cool skin and when he finished, he licked and kissed under Mycroft’s jaw now, moving down his throat.

“But aren’t you scared I’ll hurt you?” It pained him to ask the question but Mycroft had to admit that it was a possibility.

“No, because you didn’t. You stopped.”

“ _ Lock _ ! You have no idea what horrible thoughts were going through my mind. I didn’t even recognise you!”

“Exactly. And when you did, you stopped.”

Mycroft shook his head, trying to figure out how Sherlock’s mind worked. The lips on his throat were a distraction but he didn’t want them to stop, terrified that if he forced his brother away, he would never return. “But what if I hadn’t? I could have hurt you badly...I could have -” He swallowed audibly and his eyes closed in shame. “I could have  _ raped _ you,” he choked out.

The lips moved away from his throat now and when he opened his eyes again, Sherlock was looking at him with a fierce look in his glorious eyes. “But. You. Didn’t. If we were judged on all the things we  _ could _ have done, we’d all be classified as master criminals. The fact of the matter is that you  _ stopped _ ; you came back to yourself and released me. I  _ trust _ that you won’t hurt me and you didn’t.”

Mycroft unwound one of Sherlock’s arms and held his hand in between them. His pale wrist was already beginning to turn deep shades of purple in the perfect imprint of Mycroft’s fingers. He raised it up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it. “I beg to differ,” he disagreed quietly. 

His brother huffed and rolled his eyes. “I get worse injuries when my experiments blow up in my face. This is nothing.”

“It’s not  _ nothing _ !” Mycroft cried, wanting to grab Sherlock and shake him but knowing that was contradictory to the whole  _ not wanting to hurt him _ thing. “Lock, all I’ve ever done is try to keep you safe, to keep you from harm’s way, but all I ever seem to do is hurt you instead. I distanced myself when my feelings for you changed and broke your heart; I tried to keep you safe from my work, and now you’re hip deep in the whole mess; I want to make you feel loved and cherished and instead I almost force myself on you. I’ve failed. Again. All I ever do is fail.” His voice broke a little at the end and he choked back a sob.

Gentle hands, hot in comparison to his own skin, were on his cheeks. A thumb swiped away a stray tear and lips followed it, kissing it away. “You haven’t failed, you big goose,” he murmured, and Mycroft couldn’t help but laugh at his brother calling a new vampire who just attacked him a ‘goose’. “Can we take a moment, however, to discuss the actual important part of that little speech?”

Mycroft crinkled his forehead, not knowing what his brother was wanting to discuss - it had all been about how he had failed to keep him safe. “I don’t understand.”

Sherlock gave him a wry smile. “And you always claim to be the smart one. You said you wanted to make me feel loved and cherished.” He paused, and his cheeks flushed an adorable shade of red. He dropped his head, unable to meet Mycroft’s eyes and asked shyly, “Does that mean that you love me?”

His eyes widened and he pulled his brother to him, hugging him hard. “Oh, Lock,  _ of course _ I love you.”

“I don’t mean as a brother,” Sherlock whispered.

“And nor do I,” Mycroft assured him. He pulled back a little so he could see his face. “I love you in every way that one can love another.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned their foreheads together. A single tear slipped down his cheek but he was smiling as he said, “I love you too, My.”

He would later blame his tears on the hormones, since Mycroft Holmes was getting a reputation as a bit of an Iceman and  _ did not cry _ , but there was no denying the steady stream that was dripping down his cheeks. He held his brother tightly as they sniffled together, and eventually they both got ahold of themselves. Neither seemed to be aroused anymore, and so he suggested instead some dinner. “I’ll order something to be delivered for you,” he said to his brother. “Then perhaps we can watch a movie while we eat? If you want to, that is?” A night on the couch together may not be what the younger man wanted after the disastrous end to their afternoon on that very couch together. 

Sherlock nodded and gave him another kiss. “That sounds wonderful. Don’t forget I got you some steaks to practise on. If you want, that is?” he parroted.

Mycroft smiled at that and nodded. “We can experiment while we wait for your dinner to arrive.”

His brother jumped up off his lap with a grin. “Excellent. Let me grab a notebook.” And then he was gone, disappearing from the room in a wave of enthusiasm. Mycroft could do nothing but thank whatever deities existed that his brother hadn’t run screaming from him.


	9. Allow Me To Distract You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating, I've been flat out trying to get my property ready for the upcoming fire season. Of course, all I managed to do was bring fire season forward by having a controlled burn jump my containment line thanks to a big gust of wind and almost burned down my entire block *sigh* Adulting sucks. Sexy vampire fluff is a cure for my stupidity though so have some sexy vampire fluff.

Sherlock ran upstairs, ostensibly to get the notebook but also to grab a new t shirt from Mycroft’s wardrobe. He hadn’t brought any clothes with him and hadn’t been back to his own flat, so he was borrowing everything from his brother. He quite enjoyed dressing in Mycroft’s clothes - it made him feel intimate in ways completely different to the physical closeness they were exploring. After he had pulled on a shirt, he took a moment to just _breathe_.

Well, that had been fucking terrifying.

He had been so sure, absolutely certain that Mycroft had been exaggerating; that he had been distorting the truth a little just to back up his argument as to why he refused to Change Sherlock. The young genius couldn’t fathom Mycroft ever turning into a monster, despite the new vampire’s assurances that that was exactly what he would be. But then _that_ had happened, and Sherlock’s mind reared away from even thinking about how it could have ended. The person holding him down, forcing him into submission hadn’t been his brother. No, something else, something _darker_ , something _monstrous_ had been looking out at him from those pale blue eyes. And it had taken a long time - almost _too_ long - to break through to where his brother was trapped behind.

Mycroft was devastated at his behaviour, but Sherlock didn’t blame him at all. Besides, he had found he kind of liked being held down - up until the realisation that it wasn’t _Mycroft_ who was pinning him. Perhaps when his brother had completed The Change and had more control over his new nature they could explore that in a little more depth. Just the thought of being at Mycroft’s mercy, of allowing his brother to do what he liked and take what he pleased (as long as it was Mycroft and not _that_ ) was enough to make his cock wake up and take note. Perhaps it was the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, but he was _so_ hard, and his erection throbbed with need. He reached down and squeezed it once, trying to alleviate some of the pressure, but all that did was make his body scream for more. He could pull his pants down and take care of himself right here and now, or he could go downstairs to where his brother was waiting for him and get some help.

His dick knew exactly which it preferred and he found himself heading for the door without a glance back. Of course, he would have to keep those desires to be manhandled and pinned to himself for now as he knew it would only make the new vampire uncomfortable and resistant to a dalliance. In this, Sherlock would have to be the instigator, the one in control; to prove to his lover that he wanted it, was offering himself freely. To  prove that he wasn’t scared of him, that he still wanted Mycroft.

His older brother was in the kitchen, standing with the fridge open, the steaks in his hand and a look of scrutiny on his face. Sherlock could tell he was analysing the meat and weighing up the similarities to human flesh, just as the younger genius had done in the shops. He threw his notebook down on the bench and stalked over to Mycroft. He took the package from his hand and tossed it back into the fridge, then slammed the door closed and shoved Mycroft against it. His brother went willingly, allowing himself to be shoved around even though his new strength could have prevented it if he saw fit. His brow furrowed as he observed Sherlock and the younger man allowed all his walls to fall, to be as open as possible so Mycroft could deduce the want and desire in his eyes.

It worked. His brother pulled him close and then they were kissing, deep and passionate. Sherlock pressed himself up close, grinding his erection against Mycroft’s thigh and he could feel the growing hardness against his hip in response. One of his hands was clasped at the nape of the vampire’s neck and he allowed the other to slip around his waist. His deft fingers burrowed under the shirt until they were touching soft skin, and he splayed them out to touch as much as possible. He was still getting used to the difference in temperature of his lover’s skin and he shuddered as he wondered what it would be like to have him deep inside. The scientist in him wished that they had been lovers before The Change so he could compare the experiences, but Sherlock accepted that he would never know. He knew, deep down, that he would never want anyone other than Mycroft and so the only person he would ever have in that way was the vampire before him.

The kiss grew even more heated, teeth knocking and harsh panting, and Sherlock’s hands began to roam even more. He felt cool fingers creep under his own shirt and soon they were being run over his nipples, forming them into sensitive peaks that were then thumbed over until he was trembling. He dropped his hands lower, working his way between skin and trousers, cupping the curve of Mycroft’s lush arse. One of his thumbs rested right at the cleft and as his brother moved against him, it dipped down in between and Mycroft gasped, even though it was nowhere near his hole. Taking that as encouragement, Sherlock moved the thumb lower between his cheeks, massaging and kneading his buttocks with his fingers as he went. He felt the pad of his thumb catch a little as it found the pucker and even though the angle was awkward like this, he began to stroke around it in small circles. A needy little whine escaped from his brother’s mouth, a far cry from the snarling beast from earlier. “Lock, I need you,” the vampire gasped, drawing away so his brother could catch his breath.

“How?” Sherlock asked, keeping his fingers crossed the answer would be what he so desperately wanted to hear.

“Inside me,” Mycroft replied, voice a low hum that reverberated through the younger man’s chest.

Fighting the urge to come on the spot simply from hearing his brother say that, Sherlock reached down and took his hand. “Not here,” he said, tugging to get him moving. “I don’t want our first time to be on the kitchen table.”

“We’ll save that for later,” Mycroft agreed.

The young genius laughed. “Do you have plans for us to christen every room in your house?”

Mycroft pulled on his arm and he came to a stop, only to be pulled back even further into his brother’s arms. Lips were on his throat and he felt teeth graze his skin. “ _Detailed_ plans,” came the whispered reply.

Shivers went through him and he wanted to ask what the details involved but he was lost for words as Mycroft bit him. He yelped and tried to pull away, but failed. “Hagen said you shouldn’t bite me!” he reminded him in a shrill voice.

There was a sultry chuckle by his ear and strong arms kept him from moving. “Don’t fret, my love,” his brother assured him. “This is just a regular old hickey.” His lips returned and he sucked hard, and Sherlock relaxed a little as felt the absence of fangs. Once Mycroft seemed happy enough with the mark, he gave Sherlock’s bum a cheeky pat and urged him to continue to the stairs.

“We’d be in the bedroom already if you’d not gotten distracted,” the younger man grumbled.

“If you weren’t so delectable I wouldn’t have gotten distracted.”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault?”

“Of course.”

Choosing not to retort to that, he hurried them up the stairs and then they were finally in the bedroom. Now that they were here, the big bed before them, and a world of possibilities at their feet, nerves started to kick in. Sherlock had no idea what he was doing. He’d heard theories of what to do when it came to men, but the sexual education classes he’d had to sit through in school had never mentioned what to do specifically. What if he did it wrong? What if he failed so spectacularly that his brother laughed him out of the house? Worse still, what if he _hurt_ Mycroft? Perhaps they _were_ rushing this? Would it be better if they waited, took their time and explored each other more? Would he _ever_ be ready?

He’d frozen on the spot as his mind was assaulted with doubts but then there was a cool hand on his neck and a weight at his back as Mycroft stood close. “Settle, Lock, there’s no need to be nervous,” he assured him softly.

“I’m not nervous,” he attempted to claim with forced nonchalance.

The vampire chuckled and wrapped an arm around his middle to hold him close. “ _I can hear your heartbeat_ ,” he whispered directly in his ear, making Sherlock’s knees go weak. “Just relax, brother mine. I’ll take care of things.”

“How do you know what to do? I thought you hadn’t done this before?” It wasn’t an accusation...quite.

Another chuckle directly in his ear. “I may be a virgin, Lock, but I have a healthy libido. I just take care of it myself. Regular wanking stopped being enough for me long ago so I found a discreet little shop and bought some accessories.”

Oh. _Oh_. He swallowed audibly at the thought, having seen advertisements in one of the magazines that had been passed around when he was in high school but assuming they would only be used by women. The thought of his brother using them on himself had his cock twitching in his pants, demanding to see.

“How about we get rid of all these clothes and then we can begin?” Mycroft suggested.

He nodded and they undressed in a rather perfunctory manner but he hadn’t been aiming for sexy, he was aiming to get naked as quickly as possible. Once divested of clothing, Mycroft indicated he should get onto the bed so he climbed onto it and got himself into a position where he could watch his brother. The vampire had gone to one of the drawers and pulled out a bottle, a satin pouch, and a cloth. He came to the end of the bed and crawled up onto it, kneeling at the younger man’s feet. He flipped open the bottle and poured a generous amount of a clear gel onto his fingers. Dropping the bottle onto the bed next to him, he slicked both hands with the gel and one of them dropped down to begin to stroke at his cock. Sherlock gulped, his eyes glued to the sight of long, slender fingers wrapped around the thick shaft so he missed it when Mycroft widened his knees and moved his other hand behind his back. It was only when he twisted that Sherlock noticed what he was doing and his eyes widened.

“Ca...can I, um,  watch?” he stuttered out.

His brother’s eyes had closed and his mouth had fallen open in a little ‘o’ of pleasure from whatever he was doing, but he managed to nod. Sherlock was on his knees in an instant, shuffling down to the end of the bed. Mycroft moved as well, angling his body a little more and Sherlock couldn’t keep the moan from falling from his lips as he saw the two fingers that were disappearing into his brother’s body. He watched in fascination as they slid in and out, slow and steady to begin with and then the pace increasing, becoming more frantic.

“Be a doll, would you, and put some lube on the purple one,” Mycroft said, his voice hitched, head tilting towards the satin bag.

Sherlock opened the bag, feeling his eyes widen again at seeing the handful of toys inside. The purple dildo was not the smallest toy in the bag but it was far from the biggest, and he couldn’t help but imagine what it must feel like to have it, or one of the others, inside himself. He pulled the dildo out and fumbled with the bottle, coating it liberally and using his fingers to spread it all over. Wiping his hands on the cloth, he held the toy by the base until Mycroft wanted it. The vampire’s eyes had fallen closed again and Sherlock tilted his head forward, capturing those cool lips in a kiss.

Mycroft pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the cloth as well and then looked at the lubed dildo his brother held “Why thank you,” he said, kissing the younger man again. “Would you like to do the honours?” he asked, glancing at the toy.

Surprised, but pleased, Sherlock nodded. Mycroft moved forwards on the bed, dropping down onto all fours so his arse was more easily accessible for his brother. The younger man sat on his hunches and just took a moment to take in the sight before him, giving his leaking cock a tug to reassure it that he hadn’t forgotten about it. He then reached up and took hold of one cheek, giving it a squeeze, feeling the muscle beneath his fingers. He moved the dildo until the head was resting right at Mycroft’s entrance, but didn’t push inside just yet. “You’ll tell me if I hurt you?” he asked.

His brother nodded. “Of course, Lock. You’ll do just fine, just try to relax.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” he quipped, pressing the toy a little harder against his hole. “Since I’m the one holding a big plastic dick against your arse.”

Mycroft chuckled and Sherlock couldn’t help but notice the way his cock bobbed up and down at the movement. “Perhaps. Just go slowly.”

Taking a deep breath, he started to push the toy forwards. There was resistance, and one of Mycroft’s hands moved back to reposition the toy, changing the angle just a little. Sherlock grunted and then pushed forward again, watching in fascination as the first inch slid inside his brother. He paused, not only to watch, but also because the gasp Mycroft gave didn’t sound entirely like pleasure. “Are you okay?”

The vampire nodded. “It’s just an odd feeling that is always a surprise at first. You’re fine to continue.”

He was curious as to what it felt like and wondered if Mycroft would lend him some toys to practice with on himself. Of course, why practice alone when he had a lover willing to help him learn? Pushing those thoughts aside for later, he pressed the dildo forward another inch or so, fascinated by the way the skin stretched around it. He reached up with his other hand and traced over a spot where skin met dildo, feeling how tight it was. He then moved his hand down, letting his fingers trail over the furry sac that swung heavy between Mycroft’s legs. His brother canted his hips, causing the dildo to slide in more, and soon the entire length was inside his arse, only the flared base visible. He let go of it and then rubbed his hand over the small of his brother’s back, pressing a kiss to his tailbone and then each cheek, his other hand still fondling his balls. “Does it feel okay?” he asked quietly.

Mycroft nodded, his head hanging low and a faint tremble in his limbs. “Yes. Just give me a moment to adjust.”

Sherlock nodded, wondering how much you could really adjust to having something like that in your arse but figuring he would learn for himself soon enough. It was a scary thought but he knew that he was in the safest possible hands and that his brother would take care of him. Not that he had to worry about that today though - today was about Mycroft.

“You can move it now,” the vampire told him after a minute or two.

Nodding, even though Mycroft couldn’t see, Sherlock took hold of the base of the toy and slowly slid it out. It seemed to resist coming out as much as it had going in but then it all of a sudden it popped out, sliding out of it’s own accord. He watched in fascination as the muscle of his brother’s entrance fluttered at the loss, and then pressed the toy back up against it. He slid it inside, and it went much easier this time. It took a few goes to learn the point at which it would be caught by the muscle and pushed out and he managed to stop just before then. He was soon fucking his brother with the dildo, awed by the sight and sound of his brother falling apart because of what _he_ was doing. Mycroft was almost mewling with need and when he demanded that Sherlock replace the toy with his cock, the younger man hurried to comply.

The lube was cold as he squeezed it directly from the bottle onto his erection and he made a note to next time warm it up on his hands first. Once he was coated, he shuffled close to Mycroft’s arse, lining his cock up with his entrance. He pushed forward, but nothing happened. Remembering the angle the toy had been at, he tilted his hips and tried again. The head slid inside and he gasped at the cool, tightness surrounding him.

“Yes, that’s it, Lock. More, give me more.”

Not one to deny such a needy request from his lover, Sherlock took hold of his brother’s hips and pulled him back as he pushed himself forward. He watched as his cock sank inside, slowly disappearing until finally his groin was sitting flush against Mycroft arse. The feeling was intense - his brother was so _tight_ \- and his mind had been expecting heat but instead he was surrounded by cool walls. It helped to stave off his impending orgasm however so he relished the odd sensation as he remained still for a while.

“Move, Lock, please,” Mycroft begged after a while. Sherlock complied, rocking his hips so he slid out just a little and then slid back inside, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. He watched as the muscles in Mycroft’s back rippled as he moved back against him but otherwise he had no idea of how it was for him. He slowed his thrusts and then finally stilled altogether. “What’s wrong?” his brother asked, twisting his neck so he could look at him.

“I can’t see you,” he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed at being so needy. “I want to be able to see you.”

“That’s easily fixed, Lock,” Mycroft told him, and there was no hint of derision or scorn, just absolute love. He moved forwards until Sherlock’s cock was slipping from his arse and then turned over so he was on his back. He moved his legs to either side of the younger man’s and then tugged him forward into a kiss. Sherlock got lost in the kiss and hardly took note when legs wrapped around his waist, but when a cool hand wrapped around his cock he almost cried out in pleasure. He felt himself guided back towards Mycroft’s entrance and then he pushed forward and slipped back inside, the kiss never breaking.

It was infinitely better. It felt more intimate, closer, and he relished the fact he could not only kiss his brother from here, but he could open his eyes and get lost in the depths of those blue pools looking back at him. He curled his arms around Mycroft’s shoulders and held him close, his thrusts slow and languid. _Making love_ , his mind supplied. This is what this was - not sex, not fucking, but making love. He hid his face in Mycroft’s shoulder, worried his brother would read the sentiment in his eyes, but he needn’t have worried. “I love you, Lock,” Mycroft whispered, his arms tight around him and his voice full of the same sentiment.

“I love you too, My,” he replied, feeling like his heart may break.

They kept the pace the same, with no need to hurry. The world fell away until it was just the two of them, nothing else in existence apart from each other. When his orgasm came, it washed over him almost gently, not an explosive end but a drawn out wave of pleasure as he pulsed inside his lover. He caught his breath and then slipped from him and then Mycroft held him close and took himself in hand, working his cock as he whispered phrases of adoration and love into his brother’s ear. His own pleasure overcame him with a gasp and Sherlock kissed him through it, feeling him tremble against him.

They lay there for a long time, both ignoring the mess, just wanting to be close to one another. Arms and legs wrapped around the other, they held each other silently as night descended. Once the room grew dark and Sherlock’s stomach began to grumble, Mycroft gave him one last kiss and suggested they find him some dinner. The younger man just nodded and allowed himself to be ushered into the bathroom for a quick shower and then he followed the vampire downstairs. The only thought going through his mind was that no matter what it took, he would find a way to convince the vampire to Change him. He had experienced a love greater than he ever thought could exist and he wasn’t going to allow anything - not even death - to get in the way of having that forever.


	10. Becoming Familiar With This New Phase

He knew as soon as they got to the kitchen that Sherlock would get distracted by their impending experiment and dinner would get forgotten about if he let it. So Mycroft put on his adult hat and made his brother sit down at the table with the last of the pasta while he had another bottle and a half of blood. He knew he should drink more but the last thing he wanted was to have a sore belly from too much blood like he’d had after lunch. Considering his arse was a little sore right now, it didn’t seem like a kindness to himself to double his suffering. The ache down below could almost be described as pleasant however - as soon as it registered in his mind, it conjured visions of what had caused it. The recall made the act all the sweeter.

Of course he had forgotten momentarily about his increased healing ability, until he sat back down after washing the few dishes and collecting the steak from the fridge and finding it didn't hurt at all. There was a pang of loss for a second as he’d been enjoying the reminder, but that was chased away quickly by the possibilities that opened up. Once they had gained some experience together, they could begin to experiment in the bedroom and if it went wrong? Well, no matter - he’d be fine by morning. Images of certain shelves at the store he got his dildos from flashed before his mind. He’d been curious before when he’d seen the riding crop but, as well as not having anyone to use it on him, he knew the chances of unintended injury was too great. He couldn’t allow anything to jeopardise his physical prowess when he had such a dangerous job, but now? Now that wouldn’t be a problem.

“Earth to My,” Sherlock said, waving a hand in front of his face.

He was pulled from his thoughts (the image of Sherlock holding the riding crop was sexier than he’d imagined) and gave a small smile of apology. “Pardon? What were you saying?”

“I said, do you want me to microwave the steak to warm it up to body temperature first?”

“Oh. Um…” He mulled this over for a moment, knowing that Sherlock took his science seriously and would want specific parameters set for the experiment. “You bought two pieces. How about we do one of each, like we did with the blood the first time round?”

The young genius nodded and scribbled something in the notebook. “Right, well let’s start with the cold first then.” He put his pen down and looked expectantly at the vampire.

Mycroft couldn’t help but grin at his enthusiasm and he picked up one of the steaks, examining it up close. And then paused. His brow furrowed and he concentrated, willing his fangs to pop from their sheaths, but they stayed stubbornly hidden. He knew they could be deployed at will but it appeared this was a learned response. He flexed his jaw, licked his lips, prodded at his teeth with a finger, and made all manner of peculiar faces as he tried to entice them out.

Nothing worked.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” he muttered. “They’re not coming out.” He hated to think he would fail his baby brother by being unable to participate in the experiment.

Of course, Sherlock was always one step ahead of the game. He gave an exasperated shake of his head and a wry smile and then tilted his head, exposing his throat to Mycroft. Instantly his fangs dropped and the urge to lunge forward and _bite_ overcame him. He managed to control it and he rolled his eyes at the smug look on Sherlock’s face.

“Yes, yes, I find you irresistible. Don’t let it go to your head,” he quipped.

“Bit hard not to, knowing I’ve caught the eye of someone as hot as you.”

He’d never thought he’d ever be described as ‘hot’, especially by someone as beautiful as Sherlock and he felt his cheeks flush a little at the compliment. He looked down at the steak, knowing if he met Sherlock’s eyes now he’d turn even redder, and he wondered how he went about engaging his venom sacs. The only time he’d bitten anything with his fangs was that first time with his brother and that had been entirely instinctual. Looking down at the unappetising piece of meat in his hands he briefly wondered just what the hell he was even doing. He knew that he had to learn how to keep his lover safe so he pushed away his reservations and sank his fangs into the steak.

It was an odd sensation to say the least. He didn't encounter an artery so fresh blood didn’t fill his mouth like it had before, but the need to suck, to seek out the blood was there, just beneath the surface. Then the taste of the meat registered and he released the steak with a grimace. The meat wasn’t off by any standard but it tasted...dead? His mind rebelled, telling him to seek out the living, to drink his fill and he set the meat down on the plate, his fangs slipping back home.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked, a note of worry in his voice. “You look a little green around the gills.”

“It just appears that meat doesn’t appeal to me anymore,” he said, knowing it was a sad excuse for an explanation but not really knowing how to express it.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “You’re saying that vampires are vegetarian? Shall I call you Count Duckula?”

He rolled his eyes. “Ha ha, very droll, Lock. No, meat is too _dead_ for me. I bite into it and expect it to be alive and pumping blood through its veins. It’s curious - I can _taste_ that it’s not living tissue.”

“What do you mean? How exactly does it taste?”

He shrugged. “Describe the colour blue. It’s not something I can quantify or adequately describe, it just _is_.”

“Huh.” Sherlock wrote another paragraph in his notebook and then stood up, putting the steaks back in the fridge. “I suppose that’s dinner for me sorted tomorrow then.”

“What are you doing? It doesn’t matter if I find it distasteful - I still need to practice.”

“Yes, but I don’t want you to be revulsed by it,” his brother said. He picked up an orange from the fruit bowl and threw it over to him. “Why don’t we go with my original plan?”

He smiled, remembering that very first conversation. It felt like an eternity ago, not just yesterday morning. He looked at the orange and then thought about his fangs, flexing his jaw a certain way and felt them slip back down. It seemed that once he’d done it, it was much easier to get them to come out the second time. He sank them into the fruit and although it was odd, it wasn’t as disgusting as the steak had been. He pulled his fangs from the fruit, sucking at the juice that dribbled from the punctures, pondering how he could do it differently. Were his venom sacs even developed enough to engage right now? Hagen seemed certain that he was progressing through The Change ahead of schedule but perhaps that was only true for certain aspects?

“That seemed easier this time round,” Sherlock said, interrupting his thoughts. “Your fangs.”

“Oh, yes.” He flexed again and they slipped back into their sheaths, and then did it again and they popped back out. He did it a few more times until he was confident he knew exactly how to get them out.

“May I?” his brother asked, reaching up. Mycroft nodded and went very still as his brother reached up the rest of the way and gently brushed a finger over one of the fangs. His face was alight with fascination and Mycroft’s heart felt very full at being able to see his brother like this again. It had been years since they’d done experiments together and he had almost forgotten just how vibrant the young genius became when caught up in his science. Sherlock winced suddenly and yanked his hand back, looking down at the drop of blood that was forming on his fingertip. “They’re sharp,” he rumbled absently, examining the small wound.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Mycroft drawled. His brother grinned and then his expression turned a little rebellious. He slowly lifted his finger up, pausing just before Mycroft’s mouth, offering it to the new vampire. Licking his lips, he regarded the finger. “We shouldn’t,” he said in a breathy voice. “Hagen warned against it.”

“It’s just a drop,” Sherlock countered, turning his body on the chair so he was even closer, his legs slipping between his brother’s knees. His pupils had dilated and Mycroft could see the lust building in his eyes.

“I shouldn’t, I might not be able to stop.”

“You’ll stop, I know you will.”

“I…” He trailed off as Sherlock pressed forward and slid his finger in between Mycroft’s lips. The explosion of taste over his tongue from the single drop washed away the terrible taste left behind from the steak. He couldn’t help it and took hold of Sherlock’s wrist in both hands and he sucked gently at the finger, coaxing another drop of blood out. He moaned as it fizzled on his tongue and he twirled his tongue around the tip. He heard Sherlock’s breath hitch and saw him shift on the seat, obviously aroused. Mycroft let the finger slide from his mouth and then sucked it back in again, hollowing his cheeks and caressing it with his tongue. His own cock was growing thicker in his trousers and he felt the desire to pierce the finger and taste more of his brother’s blood war with the desire to replace the finger with Sherlock’s cock and milk another fluid from him. The wanton sounds of need that were falling from his brother’s lips sided with the second desire and he let go of the finger and forced his fangs to retract. Once it was safe he pulled Sherlock forward into a hungry kiss. His brother kissed him back with enthusiasm, lifting himself off the chair and twisting to deposit himself in Mycroft’s lap all without breaking their connection.

Needing more, the vampire stood, lifting his brother with him and then set him down on top of the table. He broke away and gazed down at the sight of his lover, his eyes sliding over the lithe body, pausing as they took in the prominent bulge in his trousers. “Would you like some assistance with that?” he asked, running a single finger down from the button of his jeans, along the zip, pressing firmly against the hard flesh beneath.

“Please,” Sherlock replied, his eyes closing in bliss and his head lolling back.

His deft fingers made quick work of the fastenings and then Sherlock lifted his hips to allow his jeans to be tugged down. Mycroft stripped them down over his legs, turning them inside out to pull them off his feet. He ran his hands reverently up the long, long legs before him, placing soft kisses to the inside of the milky thighs as he worked his way up. He had half a mind to tease Sherlock; to kiss and caress everywhere but where he wanted until he was begging for it, but the temptation of the long cock in front of his face was too much. His mouth watered just looking at it and he licked at his lower lip.

“You look like you want to eat me,” his brother noted.

He raised his face and saw that Sherlock had opened his eyes and was regarding him with a wry grin. He smirked and darted his tongue out to lap at the very tip of his brother’s erection. “What if I do?”

The younger man snorted. “Then you are a bigger fool that I would ever have thought. Why gobble me up in one meal when you could savour me for much longer?”

“I suppose you make a good point,” he mused, a playful smile on his lips. “But I’m rather peckish - surely you wouldn’t deny me a small sample?” He wrapped his hand around the shaft and gave it a couple of lazy tugs, causing a dribble of pre-ejaculate to ooze from the slit.

Sherlock gasped and squirmed under his ministrations. “I suppose that’s not too much to ask,” he managed to agree.

“You’re too kind,” Mycroft murmured. Then, not wanting to waste any more time with banter, he wet his lips and slid them over the head, taking in as much of the cock as he could.

“Oh, fuck, My!” Sherlock cried, one hand coming to rest in his older brother’s hair. “Your mouth is so perfect.”

Unable to grin with his mouth full, he acknowledged the compliment with a flick of his tongue, pressing firmly against the underside of the shaft. This was all still so new to him but he was already addicted to the sounds he could elicit from his brother, the reactions he caused with lips, tongue, and fingers, and the way his body responded to Sherlock’s arousal. He had always judged others harshly for being so caught up in their relationships that they ignored the outside world, but he understood now - if it could be just he and Sherlock alone for the rest of their lives, he’d be happy. He would spend every single day pleasuring his brother and drawing those moans and gasps from him.

His traitorous mind had to go and point out that since he was refusing to Change Sherlock, their lives would be of very different durations. He ignored that horrid thought for now, not wanting to be distracted during such an intimate act, and sucked a little harder as his lips passed over the ridge of the perfect cock in his mouth. The hand in his hair tightened and his brother made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a grunt and so he repeated the action, enjoying the experience of learning what actions garnered which reactions from the younger man. His leg trembled when Mycroft dragged the flat of his tongue over the head and slit; when he fondled the heavy sac, Sherlock would make a guttural sound at the back of his throat; and when he let his finger slip downwards to flick against the tight entrance of his hole, his brother’s entire body bucked and shot his release across his tongue.

The vampire straightened and then leaned over the heavily panting man, his hands rubbing in soothing circles on his hips, and his mouth trailing kisses over pale skin. His jaw ached and he took a moment to ensure his fangs would stay firmly in their sheaths. He wanted so badly to bite Sherlock, to drink his fill as he spilled his seed, but he knew it was a bad idea. His brother hooked a leg around his waist and pulled against his arse, pulling his closer. Pressing Mycroft’s erection against his thigh. “Mark me as yours?” he asked, his voice low and raspy with sex.

“I can’t,” Mycroft almost whined in reply.

His brother shook his head and ran a hand down over his chest. “Not that way, I know you can’t that way. I want your come on me, I want you to rub it into my skin, to mark me with your scent, so everyone will know who I belong to.”

His lip quirked at the thought of such an archaic response. “Do many people try and scent you like an animal, brother mine?”

“Don’t be a dick and ruin the moment,” Sherlock retorted. “Are you going to come on me or not?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the adorable pout on that lovely Cupid’s bow so he leaned forward and kissed it away. “If you wish, my love. I shall mark you as mine so all the other cavemen know you’re off limits.”

“Or I could just get up now and go and read a book and let your balls grow blue and sore,” he grumbled.

Mycroft was already working on the fastenings of his trousers and he stood up straight so they fell to the ground, followed by his underwear. He raised a brow as he wrapped his hand around his cock. “I call your bluff on that threat,” he said. “You’re not going anyway.”

Sherlock’s eyes were glued to the sight before him and his complaints seemed to die on his lips. He raised himself up onto his elbows so he could see better, his eyes still dark with desire. Having such a receptive audience heightened the experience for Mycroft and no longer did he have to imagine what his brother would look like during orgasm as he wanked, instead he had the aftermath of the reality in front of him. All of those secret fantasies he had held, only thinking of them when he was alone, stroking himself to completion, were now his to experience for real. He could still vividly recall what it felt like to have Sherlock thrust into him, to spill himself deep inside, to have the hot release trickle down his thigh afterwards as proof that it wasn’t some elaborate dream. His eyes raked hungrily over the body in front of him, cataloguing every inch, knowing that he could touch and taste now. His skin was so pale, so perfect, marred only by the odd bruise here and there, remnants of their love making and in the exact shape and size as the vampire’s fingers. His eyes flicked up to the long expanse of throat and the bloom of the bruise across it, his fang marks in the centre. The memory of that first bite flooded his mind, as well as a sense memory of what his brother’s blood tasted like and he cried out as he came. He cock pulsed and stripes of white painted the warm skin of Sherlock’s stomach and chest. His brother closed his eyes and his head lolled back in ecstacy.

After milking every last drop from his member, Mycroft reached out with one cool hand and began to spread his release over Sherlock’s skin. It was cooler than he’d expected and must have gotten colder as it was exposed to the air as his brother shivered a little. “If this suffices to fulfill your fantasy, may I suggest a warm shower?”

Sherlock grinned and nodded. “That’s a good idea. Now that I’m not overcome with lust anymore, it’s a lot more icky than I’m comfortable with.”

Mycroft laughed and offered a hand to pull Sherlock up and off the table. “Yes, sex does seem to be terribly messy and sticky.”

His brother pulled Mycroft close, a devious smile on his lips as he rubbed against the shirt that the vampire still wore, and he kissed him soundly. “I seem to be happy to get messy with you.”

“But happier to get clean with me?”

“Without a doubt.”

They laughed together and then Mycroft took his brother’s hand and led him upstairs to the bathroom. If getting clean after getting messy was part of the deal, he was more than happy with the arrangement.


	11. Planning For The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end now, only 3 chapters to go. Hope you've been enjoying it so far and to say thanks for sticking with me, there's some deliciously fluffy smut in this chapter for you :)

Dawn was breaking as Sherlock came awake and he was surprised to find Mycroft at his back. They had fallen asleep together but after a few hours he had woken to the feel of his brother disentangling himself and getting up. Mycroft had apologised for waking him and said he was going to catch up on some work, and Sherlock had just begged for a kiss before he’d rolled over and gone back to sleep. Once he’d finished, Mycroft must have come back to bed, but the younger man had been too tired to notice. 

He shivered a little and pulled the blanket closer around his neck but it did little to warm him. “Your heart still beats so why are you so bloody cold?” he mumbled, knowing it unlikely that the vampire was actually asleep.

“Sorry,” Mycroft apologised softly, shuffling back so he was no longer pressed against him.

Sherlock huffed and scooted back to regain the contact. “I didn’t mean for you to move,” he said, reaching around and finding a hand. He pulled it forwards, draping it over him and he snuggled back against his brother.

“I don’t want you getting cold.”

“I’ll live. I was just asking a question. You’re not actually dead but you have the body temperature of a corpse.”

“You’re not really doing much to reassure me that you  _ don’t _ want me to move away.”

“I’m sure you could complain about my hair getting into your mouth at night but I don’t see you kicking me to the guest room. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing I can’t adapt to. Besides, it will be nice on those hot, summer days.”

“I will be happy to act as your personal icepack,” the vampire said, pressing cool lips to the nape of Sherlock’s neck. “I suppose it’s because the blood pumps so slowly around my body,” he answered the initial question. “I’m sure a dead body would actually be much colder than me.”

“I’ll have to find some numbers,” Sherlock said, stroking his thumb over the back of the hand he held. He sighed then. “I have uni tomorrow. I don’t want to go back.”

“But you will be.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I’ll live, Lock. Besides, Hagen is coming round to check on my progress today but I’m sure that The Change is almost complete. I hope to be back at work shortly.”

“Will I still be able to spend the nights with you?” he asked, voice shy.

Mycroft tightened the arm around him. “Of course you can, Lock. I want to see you as much as I can and I’d rather have you sleeping here with me than alone in your dorm. There will be some nights when I’m working, but as often as I’m here, you’re welcome to be as well.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. He’d been a little worried that once life got back to what passed for normal for them, that his brother might not want him around as much. He’d tried to be reassured by the words and promises they’d exchanged over the last two days but unfortunately the previous five years were still holding up a candle of doubt. 

Mycroft seemed to be able to read his uncertainty. “Perhaps today we can go and pick up some of your things to leave here? As much as I enjoy seeing you in my clothes, they’re not the best fitting garments and you’ll probably feel better having something of your own to change into in the morning.”

It was enough to assuage the doubts of the younger man for now. "I’d like that.”

Cool lips were pressed to his temple. “I’ll empty out a drawer for you and make some room in the closet. Now, can I get you some breakfast?”

Sherlock didn’t let them go down to the kitchen until he’d had a chance to put his developing blow job skills to use, and then Mycroft had wanted to return the favour and so by the time they  _ had _ made it down stairs, the sun was well and truly up and the day started. The vampire seemed to want to fuss over his younger brother today and so the young genius left him to make tea and breakfast as he went outside to collect the Sunday paper that his brother had delivered. He squinted as he went outside, the sun bright in the cloudless sky. Mycroft would definitely need dark sunglasses and he wondered if he already owned a pair. As he bent down to retrieve the paper that had been thrown into a rose bush, he thought back and realised he had never seen his brother wearing sunglasses before. He was sure they would only accentuate his sexiness and he was very much looking forward to seeing it. 

Turning to go back inside, Sherlock’s eyes were drawn to a dark car parked across the road. On first glance it looked empty but in the reflection of the glass he could see two figures slumped down low in the seats. He was almost certain that they  _ weren’t _ with the Secret Service but he couldn’t tell if they had ill intentions or not. As brash as he was, he wasn’t suicidal so he knew it was a bad idea to march across the road and demand answers, but as soon as Hagen arrived, he would be demanding them of him. 

He went back inside, making sure to lock the door behind him, and then wandered back to the kitchen. He was still hesitant to tell Mycroft about what he had seen the past two days, not wanting to either worry him unnecessarily, or make a fool of himself for his paranoia. His colleague would be there within the hour so he saw little harm in delaying telling someone. He put the paper on the table and crossed to where his brother was standing at the stove, making porridge. Sherlock wound his arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to the nape of Mycroft’s neck. “It smells good,” he said softly.

“Cinnamon and sugar made with rolled oats, not instant - just like you used to like.”

“Not just used to - I still do.”

“I’m glad then that it hasn’t changed.”

They stood quietly, Sherlock watching the vampire stir the pot over his shoulder. It was relaxing, such a domestic task, and he rested his head against his brother, still holding him close. After a few minutes, Mycroft turned the heat off and tapped the spoon on the top of the pot. “All done. Why don’t you grab our tea and bring them to the table?” He nodded to the two cups of steaming brew he’d set aside on the bench. 

Sherlock nodded and reached out for the cups, but one of his hands slipped and the cup fell towards the ground. Before he could even blink, one of Mycroft’s hands had whipped out and snatched the cup from the air, placing it back on the bench without spilling a drop. Sherlock stood there, mouth hanging open as he stared at his brother.

Mycroft managed to look embarrassed. “Looks like my reflexes are getting faster,” he muttered.

“Not just your reflexes,” Sherlock said, sounded awed even to his own ears. “Your  _ speed _ ! You moved so fast it was a blur.”

The vampire shrugged and walked over to the table, scooping the contents of the pot into the bowl he’d set out. “I did tell you that my speed and strength would change.”

Picking up the tea successfully this time, Sherlock joined him at the table. “Yes, but there’s telling and then there’s  _ seeing _ . That was amazing!” A thought occurred to him. “Fucking hell, My - how the hell did you manage to fight them as a human?” It was becoming more and more obvious that to Sherlock that such a thing was nigh impossible. 

“Training and strength only gets you so far,” Mycroft admitted, popping the pot back on the stove and then taking his seat. “It was my strategies and tactical thought processes that allowed me to take them out.” He sipped at his tea, his cheeks red.

Sherlock was suddenly sad. “You faced that alone for so many years. Such dangerous work, you could have been killed and yet, we weren’t really talking.”

A cool hand settled on top of his own. “I  _ am _ sorry for that, Lock.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything, I promise. I guess I just wish I’d known what you were facing, what you were risking to keep us all safe.”

His brother shrugged again. “I always knew my line of work would be unrecognised - I never got into it for the accolades.”

“I know, but I wish I had known, so I could have been there for you if you’d needed it.”

“Oh, Lock, you  _ have _ been here for me. This has been the only time I’ve needed help and you’ve been here for me the whole time. I’m so happy you stayed.”

“I’m so happy you  _ let _ me stay. Though I have to admit, I was devastated when I read that you should only keep people you have no sexual interest in around. I thought for sure it meant you didn’t want me.”

“All it meant was that I wasn’t strong enough to keep you away. I  _ didn’t want _ to keep you away.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed Sherlock’s knuckles. “It seemed to work out okay in the end, didn’t it?”

“I’d say a little better than okay,” he replied, a smirk on his lips. 

“Yes,” the vampire agreed. “Much better than okay.” He sipped at his tea and caught the amusement on his brother’s face. “What?”

Sherlock shook his head, unable to keep the grin off his face. “It’s just odd...and so  _ British _ to see a vampire drinking tea.”

“I  _ always _ have tea before my breakfast!” he protested.

“I know, but I’m still getting my head around you being able to eat and drink other stuff as well.”

“Again, not dead, Lock.”

“Whatever you say, Mr Big Bad Vampire with the china cup.”

“Watch it, mister.”

“I wonder,” Sherlock teased some more. “Do you think they’ve considered adding flavouring to the bottled blood? You could probably get a nice chai flavour, or Earl Grey.”

“You know I could snap you in half now, right?”

“Yes, but you won’t do that because you love me too much.”

Mycroft put down his tea carefully and then fixed Sherlock with a piercing glare. A low growl rumbled up from his throat and his entire face changed, and if it weren’t for the playful crinkle of his eyes, Sherlock would have found it utterly menacing. As it was he gulped loudly as the chair was pushed back, scraping loudly on the wooden floor and his brother pushed himself to his feet. In one move, Sherlock was pulled from the chair, thrown easily over one shoulder and then carried through to the sitting room. “What about my porridge?” he asked stupidly.

“Oh, you can have that later, Goldilocks,” Mycroft said, throwing him down onto the couch and then pouncing on top of him, pinning him in place. He allowed his fangs to drop and the young genius felt his eyes widen at the noise they made. “Not so flippant now, are you?” he purred, leaning down and dragging his fangs along the pale skin of his brother’s throat.

Sherlock closed his eyes, turning his head to expose more of his throat, wanting more than anything to feel those sharp points penetrate his flesh, to be so utterly connected to his brother in a way that was more intimate than sex. “ _ Please _ ,” he heard himself beg, voice low and throaty with desire.

“Please, what?” Mycroft asked, licking at the thrumming pulse point in his brother’s neck.

Sherlock arched his back, pushing his erection up against the firm body above him. His mind was now utterly blank, save for the need to have the vampire in any and all ways possible. “I want you so much,” he whispered.

“How?” Mycroft pushed.

A cry broke from his lips, his desire so strong now that he could hardly form words. He clutched at the vampire, trying to pull him closer, needing to feel every inch of that cool shin pressed against his own heated flesh, to have that answering hardness in him somewhere, his mouth, his arse, just  _ inside _ . “However you’ll take me,” he gasped out. 

“But what do you want, brother mine?” His voice was so low, so sultry, that Sherlock’s cock throbbed at the sound.

“Aagh, please, I want all of you,” he cried. “I want you to bite me and fuck me and own me. My,  _ please _ .”

Their eyes met and the gorgeous blue of his brother’s irises was almost completely eradicated by his blown pupils. Mycroft rocked his hips and their erections dragged together, causing both of them to moan. “Fuck, Lock, you have no idea what you  _ do to me _ .” 

“I think I have some idea,” he panted, grabbing a handful of plush arse and using it as leverage to press their clothed cocks closer together.

“I want to do all of that and more, so much,” his brother said, and then there was a  _ snick _ and his fangs retracted and he was pulling away.

“What? Where are you going?” Sherlock demanded, reaching out to grab his brother and haul him back but being denied.

“I just need a moment, Lock,” his brother assured him, settling himself on the couch at his feet. “I need to get myself under control or I  _ will _ do all of those things.”

“I  _ want _ you to do all of those things! Why are you stopping?”

“Because we both know that I shouldn’t bite you again yet.”

He flopped back on the couch, covering his face with both hands and groaning into them. “It’s not  _ fair _ ,” he whined.

Mycroft chuckled. “It won’t hurt us to use a little willpower, love.” A cool hand reached under the hem of his sleep pants and stroked his ankle. “I’m just saying no to the biting - we can do the rest if you still want?”

He swallowed audibly. He wanted Mycroft to fuck him so badly, but he found he was a little scared of it as well. “I do,” he managed to croak out.

His brother had always been able to read him and he smiled gently. “There’s no rush, we can take our time. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The sat there for a long while, the mindless lust dissipating as they fought back control. He was a little in awe of Mycroft - the book he’d read had spoken at depth about the hormonal imbalance during The Change and how a new vampire could be so overcome by their desires that they would be unable to stop themselves from fucking whoever showed an interest. Yet Mycroft had been able to pull himself back, not just the once, but several times. Their minds had always been different to others but this just highlighted again how different they were. Mycroft had been able to reign in his impulses, master control over them, keep Sherlock safe. Was it simply because his mind was so much more advanced than a regular persons’? Or was it the depth of his feelings for his brother? Before he could ask, the doorbell rang, interrupting the silence.

“That will be Hagen,” Mycroft said, standing from the couch.

“I’ll go pop the kettle on to make more tea,” Sherlock told him, a hint of a smirk on his lips. 

His brother couldn’t help but smile and pulled him in for a quick kiss before he went to answer the door. The younger man went through to the kitchen and refilled the kettle, listening to the sounds of the two vampires greeting each other. They soon entered the kitchen and Sherlock noticed how Hagen’s eyes went to the hickey on his neck the opposite side of the bite and how his expression softened as he noted there was no puncture wound. He kept his finger hidden from view, doubting the vampire would notice the small wound but not wanting to take the chance. A few drops wouldn’t have hurt, surely? Best not to take the chance of it becoming known anyway. “Tea?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Coffee, if you have it, thanks.”

He grabbed the jar of instant coffee from the cupboard, listening to Hagen ask Mycroft about his progress. His brother dutifully explained the changes he’d noticed, the list much shorter than yesterday’s. “It does seem to be slowing,” Hagen noted. He took hold of Mycroft’s jaw. “Show me your fangs,” he requested.

Even from across the room Sherlock heard the soft noise they made and he repressed a shiver. The last thing he needed was to get an erection whilst the older vampire was in the room. He carried their beverages across to the table and sat, watching the examination and stirring his now cold porridge. 

“Have you managed to practice getting your venom sacs to work?”

Mycroft shook his head. “Not yet. We tried with some steaks but it was a little too unpalatable to continue.”

Hagen’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Urgh, yeah, that’s not a good idea.”

“I suggested an orange,” Sherlock piped up. 

“Yes, that’s a good substitute,” he agreed with a nod. “That still didn’t work?”

“I guess I’m not quite sure what I’m supposed to be doing,” Mycroft admitted.

Hagn pulled the fruit bowl over and handed him an orange. “It’s all about the pressure. You bite like normal, and then instead of pushing your fangs in deeper, you almost push them  _ back _ into your jaw. It’s hard to describe, but that pressure then activates the sacs and releases the venom.” His brother’s brow furrowed as he tried to comprehend this and Hagen nodded at the fruit. “Give it a try.”

Mycroft sank his fangs through the skin of the orange and Sherlock looked away, telling himself it was ridiculous to be jealous of a piece of fruit but wanting his brother to bite him again so badly that he couldn’t help it. 

“‘ha ow?” he heard Mycroft mumble and interpreted it as  _ what now _ .

“Well, now you just have to play around with the pressure. It’s a little like when your fangs retract but instead of putting them back into their sheaths, you’re almost biting the opposite way.”

Unable to help himself, Sherlock looked back to see the look of confusion on his brother’s face. There was frustration on Hagen’s face as well, as it was obviously difficult to explain. Mycroft moved the orange around a little, his fangs still sunk into it, ignoring the dribble of juice that trickled down his chin. Sherlock reached across and gently wiped it away, smiling as gorgeous blue eyes met his in a look of appreciation. It was almost a minute later when those eyes widened in understanding and he made a sound of triumph. Retracting his fangs he closely inspected the orange and then held it out for the others to see. Oozing out of the fruit was a clear liquid, slightly thicker than water, with an almost rainbow sheen much like the bubbles in washing up liquid. 

“Excellent, Holmes!” Hagen praised him, clapping him on the back. 

“Can I keep it to examine?” Sherlock asked at once.

Mycroft looked to his colleague, a question in his eyes. Hagen shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t enter his bloodstream, it’s harmless enough. It will lose it’s potency after several hours exposed to the air.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock said, popping it safely to one side for later. He’d be sure to grab his equipment from his dorm when he went back since the items his brother kept here were very basic

“You understand now?” Hagen asked his charge.

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, I see exactly what you were trying to say. I can’t really think of any other way to describe it better than you did but it’s just so difficult to put into words.”

“It’s mostly instinctual. Once you’ve done it the first time, the next is exponentially easier.”

“I noticed that even with getting my fangs to descend.”

They spoke for perhaps another fifteen minutes, most of that consisting of Mycroft demanding to be allowed back to work and Hagen insisting he had to wait another week at least to fully adjust. The older vampire didn’t appear moved by any of his colleague’s arguments and remained firm. “You’ll need to come in for a thorough examination on Tuesday and then another most likely on Friday for final clearance, but otherwise, you’re to stay away.”

Sherlock wanted to tell Mycroft that his pout was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen but knew if he did he wouldn’t ever get to see him naked again and so refrained. When Hagen bade them farewell, he offered to walk the vampire out, wanting to speak to him alone. His brother threw him a questioning look, but didn’t protest and neither did Hagen. “What’s on your mind?” he asked as Sherlock drew him to a halt before he could open the door.

“Do you have people watching My?” he asked quietly, glancing back towards the kitchen to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard.

The vampire frowned and shook his head. “No, I’m the only one from the Service checking in on him. Why?”

Heart sinking as his suspicions were confirmed, he pointed through the lace curtain that hung over the glass panel to the side of the door. “That car has been parked there all morning with two men in it who don’t want to be seen. Yesterday there was a different car but with two other men watching the house but they drove off when they noticing me noticing them.”

With narrowed eyes, Hagen observed the car through the lace. “Have you mentioned this to your brother?”

“Not yet - I wasn’t sure if I was making something out of nothing. I figured I’d check with you in case you it was procedure to have people watching.”

“Not for those who are already agents, it’s not. If it were a civilian or somebody else who got caught up in the middle of something and the treatment didn’t work, we’d watch them of course. The other side are always looking to recruit new members to their cause. There’s little chance of an agent changing sides, even after The Change so we keep it to just one agent assigned to them.”

“What should we do?”

“Leave it with me. As much as you can, don’t them them know that you’re aware of their presence. I’d like them to be lulled into a false sense of security if we can.”

He wanted to protest, to demand that something be done  _ now _ so Mycroft wouldn’t be in danger, but Sherlock had a good enough read on Hagen by now to know that the vampire wouldn’t rush into anything without having well laid plans. He would just have to trust that he would do what was best. “Okay. Do you have some way I can get in contact with you if I need?”

Hagen nodded, giving him a smile. “Of course. Here’s my card with my phone and page on it. Try not to worry, Sherlock - Holmes is a good man and I’ll do everything I can to protect him.”

“Thank you,” he said a little gruffly. 

With one last clap on the back (he  _ really _ liked to do that) the blonde vampire was out the door, giving him a cheerful wave over his shoulder. Sherlock watched him leave, deliberately keeping his eyes averted from the car, and then closed and locked the door once more. He headed back into the kitchen and found Mycroft doing the dishes from Sherlock’s breakfast, a mug of warmed blood on the bench next to him. 

“Dare I ask what that was about?” his brother asked, drying his hands on a tea towel.

“I just had one or two questions that I wanted clarified,” he replied, hoping to convince Mycroft it was nothing serious. “Just about what to expect.”

“I see.” Well, drat, he clearly didn't buy it. His brother held his tongue though, allowing him his secrets and Sherlock was grateful. Now that he knew he had a reason to worry, he didn’t want to worry Mycroft with it. He had enough on his plate as it was.

“Why don’t you finish your blood and then we can head off to get my stuff?” he asked, stepping forward into the vampire’s personal space and wrapping his arms around his neck. “That way we’ll get back here with more than enough time to take things slowly this afternoon.” He kissed his way along his brother’s jaw and nuzzled at the spot just below his ear.

If Mycroft saw it as the distraction it was meant to be, he didn't say anything. Instead his arms wound around Sherlock and pulled him close and his mouth sought out his. He tasted of tea, and vanilla, and something coppery, but Sherlock pushed aside his natural revulsion, knowing he would need to get used to the taste of blood if he wanted to kiss his brother at any time of the day. The kiss deepened, and when Sherlock felt hands grasp his arse and lift, he happily wrapped his legs around Mycroft’s waist and allowed himself to be carried through to the sitting room. It was a novel feeling, knowing his brother was strong enough now to simply carry him as if he weighed nothing at all, and it made him feel wanted, and desired, but also safe. Mycroft turned and sat on the couch, Sherlock still on his lap and they continued to kiss each other, mapping out the other’s mouth. “I don’t think I can wait until we’re back to get my hands on you,” Mycroft murmured, his slender hands tugging at Sherlock’s shirt.

“Then don’t,” he whispered back, his own hands working at the buttons of Mycroft’s crisp white shirt. 

Sherlock managed to get his sleep pants off without getting off his brother entirely, but Mycroft had dressed in proper clothes before coming down to breakfast and so was trapped in perfectly pressed trousers. Neither seemed able to separate long enough to allow him time to get up and get undressed so they settled on undoing his flies and maneuvering his cock out of its confines. Sherlock widened his legs and scooted forward up his thighs, bringing their cocks into alignment and Mycroft wrapped one of his hands around both of them. It was fire and ice, the cool skin of the vampire rubbing against the heated skin of the human and they both moaned at the contrast. Sherlock dipped his head forward, capturing Mycroft in yet another kiss, not being able to quite get enough of the sensation. They kissed until they were breathless and then took large, gasping breaths of air before slotting their mouths back together to continue the kiss. Sherlock’s hands tried to be everywhere at once - running over the lean planes of Mycroft’s chest, fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck, trailing down his spine, feeling each individual vertebae, thumbing along a high cheekbone, and fingers twining with his brother’s. He touched and felt and couldn’t get enough, and so he touched some more, all the while kissing deeply and passionately and grinding his hips so his length slid against Mycroft’s. 

It was utterly filthy and utterly perfect and he couldn’t imagine a time when he wouldn’t want to share this with Mycroft. His heart belonged completely and irrevocably to his brother and would until the day he died, and he hoped with every fibre of his being that one day he would convince Mycroft to Change him, to gift him with so many more years with him. His brother was certain he wouldn’t live past a human lifespan, that he would fall in this war he so valiantly fought in, but together, with Sherlock at his side, the young genius was sure they could keep each other safe. 

Mycroft circled his thumb over the head of Sherlock’s cock, causing him to buck into his grasp, dismissing the thoughts of convincing his brother. He broke the kiss, resting their foreheads together and looking down so he could watch. The sight of their cocks sliding together through the tight channel of Mycroft’s fist made his breath hitch and when Mycroft began to murmur a steady stream of, “Oh, Lock, so perfect, so beautiful, mine, all mine, never letting you go, need you so much, want you, love you, mine, all mine,” it was all he needed to topple over the edge. Jets of hot come pulsed over his brother’s hand, splashing onto the shirt he still wore and smearing across Sherlock’s naked stomach. Once every last drop had been wrung from him, Mycroft allowed Sherlock's spent cock to slip from his grasp and he tightened his hand around just his own and began to pump furiously. 

“You’re the one who’s perfect, My,” he whispered, watching in earnest. “You’re so fucking sexy, I’m so lucky to have you. Please don’t ever leave me, I need you so much, I can’t ever lose you. Don’t leave me, please.”

They weren’t perhaps the most suitable words to be spoken at that time - later Sherlock would cringe at how needy and desperate he sounded - but his voice seemed to affect Mycroft in positive ways nonetheless as he was soon gasping as his own orgasm washed over him. They remained with their foreheads pressed together long after they had both regained their senses, and Mycroft clasped him firmly around the back of his neck with his clean hand and squeezed tightly. “I’m not going anyway, Lock. I promise. I’ll never leave you.”

They were soon standing, plucking tissues from the box to wipe off and going to the bathroom to wash their hands. It was the boring reality, the clean up after the act, the unromantic part that no one ever spoke about, but as they stood at the sink, passing the soap between them, he felt a warmth bloom in his chest as their eyes caught and they shared a smile. Sherlock didn't just want the fireworks and the exciting explosions - he wanted it all. The mess, the hardships, the tears, the tantrums, the quiet times, the triumphs, every single part of a relationship. He dried his hands and then wrapped them around his brother’s waist, leaning his head between his shoulder blades. “I love you, My.”

A cool hand covered his, squeezing it tightly. “And I you, Lock. Always.” He twisted in his grip and kissed his cheek. “Now, how about we go and get your things?”

Sherlock smiled and nodded and then allowed himself to be led downstairs. The sooner they left, the sooner they would be back and he had plans for this afternoon.


	12. I've Made A Terrible A Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little late - I've been sick :(

The Jag roared to life as the garage door slowly opened and Mycroft glanced over to take in Sherlock’s reaction. Neither had ever been into cars and so he knew that the younger man would have questions about why he had such a fancy vehicle now. Of course, as he was want to do, Sherlock surprised him. “Work car?” he deduced correctly.

Mycroft smirked. “Indeed.”

“I suppose it makes sense to have something you can make a fast getaway in,” he said, running a hand over the leather dash.

“Perfect sense.” The garage door finally opened completely and he flipped down his sunglasses and pulled the car out of the drive, turning onto the road. The university wasn’t too far away, only a short walk and one tube stop away but taking the car would not only be quicker, but would allow Sherlock the freedom to bring back as many items as he wanted. The idea of asking his brother to officially move in with him had been swimming around in Mycroft’s thoughts for days now but he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure how the offer would be received. They’d yet to discuss any of the really difficult topics but they wouldn’t be able to put it off much longer. If he’d thought that telling Sherlock that vampires existed and he was turning into one was hard, it was nothing on broaching how best to keep their incestuous relationship a secret from their parents. It wasn’t unusual at all for siblings to flat share when they moved to the city, but given their strained relationship over the past five years, they would have to come up with an elaborate reason as to why Sherlock was moving out of his dorm and in with his brother to convince their parents.

The perfect excuse was delivered to Mycroft on a silver platter once they arrived at the dorm in question. It was a two bed dorm and he’d never really given much thought to the fact that Sherlock roomed with someone. His brother had never mentioned his dorm mate by name or implication and if pressed, Mycroft would have admitted to believing that he’d had the room all to himself. As they walked up the corridor towards the dorm, Sherlock slowed down as his eyes fell on a door that was cracked open. “I swear he was born in a fucking barn,” he muttered, a scowl on his face.

“Pardon? Who?”

“Zane, my roommate.” He spoke the name like he would speak of something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of his shoe but then seemed to dismiss his irritation and stormed towards the door and shoved through it.

Mycroft followed and made sure to close it behind them. He looked around the room, ignoring the trappings for now as his eyes fell on the young man sitting on one of the beds. “Sherlock!” he cried, his green eyes lighting up at the sight of him. He had thick brown hair that fell in dark waves around his face and he pushed it back from his eyes with nervous hands. “Where have you been? Andrew said you’d been pulled from Jefferson’s lecture and no one has seen you since. Are you okay? What happened? Is someone hurt? Is your family okay?”

His brother waved off the barrage of questions and crossed to his own bed, pulling out a duffel bag from underneath it. “I won’t be staying here often from now on,” was all he said, then completely ignored the man and began to pack.

Mycroft watched as the man’s face fell, and he held back a surge of jealousy. Zane was clearly infatuated with Sherlock, his eyes unable to tear away from his roommate. He was classically handsome with a strong jaw, those jade green eyes, and he was slim but obviously well toned. He didn’t seem to have a problem with Sherlock’s stand offish behaviour, in fact it just gave him more opportunity to ogle his arse. He’d completely ignored the third person in the room, and Mycroft was not used to being ignored. He fought the urge to grab Sherlock and mark him as his, to lay claim to him with a kiss so this _boy_ knew he was off limits. Unfortunately there was a framed photo of the the brothers and their parents on the dresser and it wouldn’t take much for him to jump to the correct conclusion.

“Where are you staying?” Zane asked when it became clear Sherlock wasn’t going to explain.

“With My,” Sherlock said as if it should be obvious.

“Your?” Zane asked. “Your what?”

“Huh?”

“You started to say ‘with my’ but didn't finish.”

Sherlock turned to gather some of the books from the floor next to the bed and gave his roommate a peculiar look. “What are you talking about? I’m staying with My!” He pointed at his brother and then turned back to stuff the books inside his bag.

Zane seemed to realise they weren’t alone for the first time and he turned a suspicious gaze on the vampire. His nostrils flared and he stood up, seeming to puff out his chest in some form of primitive intimidation. Mycroft regarded him coolly, one eyebrow raised slightly in derision. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he drawled, making it clear it was anything but.

“Likewise,” Zane replied. His eyes darted between the two, trying to make a connection but he appeared to be too slow to piece it together. Mycroft was certainly not going to help and so remained quiet.

Sherlock began to rummage through some drawers and he paused halfway through to glance over at the bed. “I can’t seem to find my pyjamas,” he said, mostly to himself.

Unable to help himself, Mycroft replied, “There’s really no need for them, but if you truly want some, you’re welcome to keep using the ones of mine you’ve been wearing.” He hid his smirk at the look that crossed his rival’s face. Of course, when Zane finally realised they were brothers, his statement could be innocently explained, but until then he would (rightfully) assume they were sleeping together.

“Thanks. I’ve grown rather attached to wearing your clothes.” Perhaps Sherlock wasn’t as oblivious to his roommate’s feelings as he pretended to be.

Mycroft grinned and when Zane looked away, gave his brother a wink. “Almost done? I was thinking dinner and movie tonight?”

“You spoil me, My.” Said with an adoring smile. He _definitely_ knew.

“When will you be back?” Zane asked, a note of desperation in his voice. “Howard and Trevor are having that party next weekend and I thought maybe we could go?”

Sherlock zipped up his bag and lifted it onto his shoulder, careful not to jostle it too much as he’d stashed some of his equipment in there. He quirked a brow at the man. “Why on earth would you think that would appeal to me? Since when do I socialise with anyone around here?”

“I just thought it would be nice to hang out, just the two of us.”

“At a party? With other people? And when do we _ever_ hang out?”

Mycroft started to feel a little sorry for the poor boy who was desperately clutching at straws. “Lock, we’d best be off,” he said to hurry along the process of thoroughly breaking Zane’s heart.

Sherlock nodded and walked over to Mycroft, standing right next to him, their arms brushing. “Of course. I can’t wait to get home,” he said wistfully. He opened the door and placed a hand on the small of Mycroft’s back to guide him through it.

Manners got the best of him and so Mycroft said, “Nice to meet you,” to Zane before they left. Sherlock didn't say anything.

They didn't speak as they walked to the car, but Mycroft couldn’t help but smile at the way Sherlock had said ‘home’. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too hard to convince him to move in permanently with him after all. As they reached the Jag, Sherlock gave Mycroft a look that chased all other thoughts away and he was sure his heart skipped a beat. It was wanton, and indecent, and a shameless display of _need_ for his brother; it was sex personified. They slid into the car and before the engine had even turned over, one of Sherlock’s hands had settled on his vampire’s thigh. His head was turned to look out the window, a slightly bored expression on his face, and if anyone looked their way their eyes would slide past the unremarkable scene with ease. Below eye level, the hand was steadily creeping up Mycroft’s thigh, caressing the muscle as it went taut with each lift of his clutch foot, getting closer and closer to the burgeoning bulge in his trousers. When long fingers brushed delicately over his hardened crotch, Mycroft almost put the Jag up the rear end of the taxi in front of them. He regretfully took hold of his brother’s wandering hand and moved it back over to its owner’s side of the car. “If we crash, it’ll take even longer to get home,” he said in a tight voice.

Sherlock shifted himself so he was now angled towards Mycroft and threw him a devious grin. “Spoilsport. I suppose if you won’t let me play with you, I’ll just have to play alone.” Then to his brother’s complete astonishment, he opened the zip on his jeans and pulled out his erection, running the length between two of those long fingers.

“What are you doing?” Mycroft hissed, his eyes torn between watching the slow moving traffic in front and the pornographic scene beside him.

Sherlock grinned. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Anyone could see!”

“Only if they’re higher than us.”

“Like that bloody bus that is _right bloody there_!” If his voice was more of a squeak than a snarl then Mycroft couldn’t be blamed.

His brother glanced over to the left where the red bus had pulled alongside them. He gave an unconcerned shrug and wrapped his hand more fully around his cock, beginning to stroke in earnest. “So?”

“ _Sherlock_ ,” Mycroft growled, his fangs descending under their own duress. “Nobody else gets to see you but me. Ever. You are _mine._ Now cover yourself before I have to rip the throats out of every single fucking person who has just seen you so I am the only living being who has seen you in this state.”

His brother shuddered and his cock twitched and then thick fluid was pulsing from the tip. “Fuck, _My!_ ” he cried out, the sound going straight to Mycroft’s cock. “Oh, oh fuck,” he said, slumping back against the seat and breathing hard. “Sorry, I wasn’t planning on that, it’s just your voice and holy _fuck_ do I love you getting all possessive like that.”  He glanced over with glazed eyes, but there was a genuine concern laying behind the fog. “Please don’t kill anyone.”

Mycroft tasted blood and realised he’d pierced his lower lip with one of his fangs. “Put. Your. Fucking. Cock. Away,” he grated out. “Or I will go on a rampage you have not seen the likes of before.”

The young genius hurried to tuck himself away and then traffic was moving again and they left the bus behind. Mycroft looked straight ahead, his hands gripping so tightly to the steering wheel that he was worried he’d leave permanent indents of his fingers in the leather. He stayed silent the entire way home, and he could see Sherlock shifting nervously in his peripheral. His brother was obviously thinking he had crossed a line and was worried about the consequences. In truth, Mycroft was so turned on he could hardly think straight. Yes, he didn't want anyone to see what Sherlock had to offer, but he also knew that the little performance had been entirely for him. And the fact that his brother found his possessiveness arousing instead of alarming? It just made him want to lay claim to him even more. They turned onto his street and he hit the remote for the garage door and by the time he pulled into the driveway it was already open. He parked the car and turned off the engine and then the only sound was the whir of the motor of the door as it closed behind them. They sat, silent and unmoving until they were plunged into the dim light of the closed garage.

“My, I’m -” Sherlock began but Mycroft cut him off by raising his hand for silence.

He took a deep breath, his body falling back on habit as he tried to regain some semblance of control. “Go inside. Go straight upstairs to the bedroom. Wait for me there.” There was no room for argument.

“Yes, My,” his brother replied meekly. Sherlock opened the door and grabbed his duffle bag, then headed through into the house.

The vampire remained in the car for several long minutes. All he wanted to do was to go upstairs and throw his brother on the bed and _take him_ . It was what he was going to do, what Sherlock _wanted_ him to do, their plans for the afternoon all along. If he went up there right now however, he would most likely end up being rougher than he wanted. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, and right now, the need to claim, and own, and possess was too strong. A small part of his brain was doing its best to rationalise with him, telling him he was raised better than this and that Sherlock wasn’t an object to be owned. The more primitive part of his brain that had been unlocked since The Change was screaming that that was exactly what his brother was and he needed to learn his place. It took a while but soon the rational part was giving the primitive part a smug look and doffing its hat. He took another deep breath and then got out of the car.

When he entered the bedroom, he found Sherlock standing by the window, shuffling nervously. His eyes widened a little as his vampire entered the room and Mycroft felt his heart fall. Fear. That had been a look of genuine fear on his lover’s face. He walked over slowly, holding his hands up in the most non-threatening way he could. “Lock, are you okay?” he asked softly.

His brother gave a nod of his head but it was curt and disjointed. “Yes.”

He gave him a sad smile. “That was a lie, brother mine.” He took a step forward and rested his hands gently on his brother’s shoulders. “How about you clean up and we go downstairs and watch a movie together?”

Several emotions flickered over the younger man’s face - shock, confusion, sadness, rejection. His shoulders slumped and he turned away. “You don't want me?” he asked, his voice broken.

“What? No! Lock, that’s not what I said.”

“But you are saying that you don’t want to make love to me. You’d rather do something else.”

He pulled his brother to him and held him close. “Because I’ve scared you! I don’t want you to be terrified for your first time, it’s not right.”

“You didn't scare me,” he protested. He caught the look Mycroft shot him. “Well, much.”

Mycroft pulled him over to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached up and brushed a rogue curl from his brother’s forehead. “I’m sorry that I’ve ever given you cause to fear me. Truly I am. I never want to hurt you, love, but I’m terrified that I will without meaning to. I feel so much for you and along with everything else that’s happening, it seems to spiral out of control so quickly.”

“I’m sorry I pushed you like that,” the genius apologised. “I should never have done what I did.”

“Oh, Lock. You have no idea how sexy I found it. But I also can’t deny that it seemed to wake the beast a little bit. I know I call you mine, but I don’t own you. You have a right to do what you want and I never want to take away your free will.”

“But you do! Mycroft, I belong to you!”

He shook his head. “No, Lock, you don’t.” He held up his hand again when his brother went to protest. “You have willingly given me your heart, as I have given you mine. But you are free to take it back whenever you wish. I won’t share you with anyone else, and you flaunting yourself so publicly upset me as much as it aroused me, but your body is yours to do with what you wish.”

“Whatever I wish?” he asked, his eyes calculating.

Mycroft swallowed hard, finding it more difficult to agree than he’d thought. He settled for a nod.

Sherlock smirked and then grabbed his shoulders and pulled him over, lying down until his vampire was hovering over him. He hooked a leg around Mycroft’s waist and with a foot against his arse, pulled them flush together. “Then it’s my choice to have you inside of me. I _want_ you to fuck me, My. I _need_ you to make love to me. Please.”

He looked into those glorious eyes, reading only the truth there and his resistance melted away. If this was what Sherlock wanted, then he would not deny him. “Then I shall do so gladly,” he murmured, ducking his head down to take him in a kiss.

His heart soared and Rational wrestled with Primitive, subduing it and locking the beast away. No matter how much he let himself go today, he would not allow the beast anywhere near his love. With his brother protected so, he turned his attentions to his actions, to make Sherlock’s first time as pain free and enjoyable as possible.


	13. How Quickly The Mood Can Sour

It was an odd feeling, and there was pain, but Sherlock had put his trust in Mycroft when he murmured that it would pass, and he had tried to relax as his brother sank his cool length deep inside. It seemed to take forever, and at one point, when the burn of the stretch was almost too much to bear, he had wanted to cry out, pull away and give up, but Mycroft had stroked his face and whispered words of love and encouragement, and Sherlock had clung to him, a tear trickling down his cheek, but now determined to see it through.

And he’d done it. Mycroft was propped up on his elbows above him, as deep inside as he could get, and they both panted heavily as they adjusted to the sensation. It was reassuring to him, to hear the harsh breaths from the vampire, knowing that he didn't _need_ to take them, but was doing so anyway. It proved that he was just as overwhelmed as his younger brother was, that they were equally as moved by their actions.

“I love you so much,” Mycroft said softly, once they’d both calmed down.

Sherlock clung to the cool, smooth expanse of his brother’s back, his face buried in the crook of his neck. “I love you too, always, My.”

“How are you doing? Do you think you’d be okay if I started to move?”

“Fuck yes, please.”

As the vampire began to rock his hips, Sherlock wasn’t sure which he enjoyed better - being on the bottom or top. As much as he had enjoyed being inside his brother, and as much as it had initially hurt when he’d been breached, the slow build of pleasure as Mycroft moved inside him was simply glorious. It seemed to be so much deeper and more intense than the rush of pleasure he’d felt when he himself had been the one moving deep inside his lover, or having Mycroft’s lips wrapped around his cock. Every now and then the vampire’s length would drag over a certain spot and there would be a pulse of sensation, but otherwise it built gradually, rolling through his body from his very core. Their lips met in a desperate kiss, and his nails raked down Mycroft’s back, clutching him to him. Then Sherlock’s legs were moved until they were being hooked over broad shoulders and the angle changed and then suddenly he was seeing stars, crying out and spilling his seed between them.

“Bloody hell, Lock,” Mycroft panted, snapping his hips harder and faster, driving himself deep between the contracting muscles. “I can’t believe you came just from that. You’re so damn sexy, fuck, the things you do to me.”

The younger man couldn’t help but preen under the praise, even as his passage began to ache with sensitivity. His arms wrapped about his brother’s neck and he arched up to meet his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the room. He felt the muscles beneath his fingers tense and then Mycroft grunted in his ear. The odd sensation of fluid cooler than his own body temperature filled him and he once again lamented not having the chance to experience this with his brother before The Change had occurred.

After a long moment where they just held each other, Mycroft began to ease his way out of his brother. Sherlock keened a little at the loss but his vampire shushed him with a kiss and then pulled him to his feet. “Let’s hop in the shower, shall we?”

He nodded and followed along, his mind blissfully quiet after their lovemaking. It made him docile and pliable and Mycroft’s gentle hands guided him through to the bathroom and then into the shower cubicle. When he also stepped under the warm spray, he wrapped his arms around his younger brother and held him close, nuzzling against the skin of his neck. Sherlock allowed his eyes to flutter closed and in the private little world of the bathroom he could pretend like they were the only ones in existence. “Thank you,” he whispered, his hands sliding over the wet skin of the vampire’s back.

“Thank _you_ ,” his brother said. “That was amazing.”

“We fit together so well,” he observed quietly. “I think we were meant to be together.”

Mycroft chuckled and then kissed him soundly on the lips. “I have never believed in fate but it does seem we were destined to be together in all ways possible.”

“ _All_ ways?”

His brother went still and then there was a small sigh. “I’m not going to Change you, Lock. We’ve been over this.”

“But _why_? We’d get to be together for so much longer!”

“I would have thought you’d understand, having had a front row seat to what I almost did to you yesterday. I don’t want to turn you into something capable of _that_.”

Sherlock drew away from Mycroft and glowered up at him. “You’re basing your entire decision on actions that occur during the first week of the transition, actions I’d like to point out that you didn't even go through with! You can’t honestly expect me to accept this weary excuse of ‘you’ll turn into a monster’. I know that’s not true!”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft growled in warning. “Do not test me on this.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn!” he ranted, ignoring the vampire completely. “Is it because you _don’t_ want to be with me forever? Will I bore you? You always say you’re the smart one out of the two of us so maybe I’m just not good enough for you? Is that it?”

“You know perfectly well that that’s not the case at all. Don’t twist my words!”

“Well what else am I supposed to believe? Your reasonings are not logical and they don’t make any sense!”

“Because I said so should be reason enough!” Mycroft snapped, his voice echoing around the tiled room.

“ _That’s not a reason!_ All it does is make me think that you believe yourself to be superior to me.”

“Of course I don’t think that, Lock.”

“Then why should you saying so be reason enough?”

“Because of the two of us, I’m the one who has your best interests at heart.”

“Oh, that’s cute! Are you so blind that you have yet to realise how utterly selfish I am? If anyone is looking out for my interests, it’s _me_!”

“ _There’s a war going on, Sherlock!_ ” Mycroft thundered, drowning out the noise of the shower. “Stop and _think_. If you Change, you will be put in more danger than you could possibly know! The vampires on the other side will expect you to join them and if you don’t then they will hunt you down and make you pay. You don’t have the training I have, you don’t know how to fight them. You will surely die and I can’t stand to watch that!”

“You’re going to watch me die no matter what you choose!” Sherlock yelled back. “Except if you get your way it will be very slowly and I’ll have to cope with the fact that you aren’t aging; that I’m getting further and further away from you. It will be a battle I can never fight, that there’s no hope against. At least if you Change me, I can learn to fight. You can train me to fight them, to fight for our side! I’d rather die at your side in battle than to helplessly watch as I lose you!”

“You won’t ever lose me, Lock. I will stay by your side until the very end.”

He shook his head, the spray from the shower washing away the tears that were streaming down his face in anger and sorrow. “That will be a form of torture in itself,” he muttered, then pulled the shower curtain back and stepped out. Mycroft reached for his arm but Sherlock shook it off. “Don’t! Just don’t.” He ripped a towel off the rack and wrapped it around himself then stormed down the hall to the guest room and slammed the door behind him. He didn't even bother drying off, just threw himself onto the unmade bed that he’d abandoned halfway through his first night there. He couldn’t help the sobs that wracked his body but he tried to keep them as quiet as possible, not wanting Mycroft to know just how upset he was.

Of course he had completely forgotten just how good vampire hearing was, although it was likely that Mycroft would have come after him anyway. The door opened and he heard the sound of feet crossing the carpet but he kept his face resolutely hidden in the pillow. The bed dipped and he felt his brother at his back and a cool hand was placed on his shoulder. “Lock, I’m so sorry,” Mycroft said, his voice broken. “I’m sorry I’ve upset you, and I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want.”

He couldn’t answer, knowing that no matter how much he argued, his brother wouldn’t listen right now. Instead he just cried harder, his entire body shaking with his upset. The hand dropped to between his shoulder blades and began to rub in circles but it did little to calm him. He hated the thought of Mycroft having to watch him grow old and die but even more he hated the thought of unclaimed years they could spend together if only his brother would allow it. Why wouldn’t Mycroft listen? Why would he not change his mind? Could he now see what it meant to Sherlock?

Mycroft shifted so he was lying pressed against his brother and in between his own sobs Sherlock could feel his brother trembling. Was Mycroft crying as well? Could vampires even _cry_ ? He felt a stab of guilt go through him for ruining the tender moment they had been sharing after they’d made love, and also for upsetting his brother. The new vampire had so much on his plate at the moment due to the monumental change his body was going through and it probably wasn’t fair of Sherlock to be pressing the issue right now. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat rejected by Mycroft however and it caused him an ache deep down inside that was constant and unrelenting. He knew he should let the matter drop for the time being, but his entire self rallied against it, _needing_ to fight for their love, to ensure it would be eternal and not as fleeting as his mortal lifespan.

Then there was an audible cry from behind him and the tremors that shook the vampire’s body only increased and he felt the fight leave him. Mycroft had always been the stronger of the two of them and to see his visible upset was a beacon announcing how sharp his pain was. No matter how selfish he was, Sherlock simply could not continue to inflict such hurt on his brother. He would not forget the matter, and he wasn’t giving up, but for now he could shelve the urge to argue the point in favour of keeping the peace. Rolling over to face Mycroft, he lifted a hand and wiped away the tears that were sliding sideways over his brother’s cheeks and dripping onto the pillow.

“I’m sorry, Lock. I’m so sorry,” Mycroft sobbed, almost seeming to implode inwards until he was as small as he could make himself.

“Let’s just forget it for now,” he said, eager for a temporary truce so he wouldn’t have to see the anguish on his brother’s face. “We can discuss it later.”

He could read in those pale blue eyes that he brother was resolute in his decision but that he was willing to save that fight for another day. They were both as stubborn as the other but this new intimacy they shared was so fragile that neither were confident a major row would not damage it permanently. It was a testament to how much it meant to both of them that they were willing to set aside a debate to protect it. The vampire wiped his eyes and nodded, then offered him a weak smile. “What would you like to for this afternoon?”

“Maybe we could just read in bed together?”

“Of course. Let me go and get my book.”

“No, I don't want to read in this bed, I want to read in _our_ bed,” he said, glancing shyly at him, hoping he hadn't overstepped the mark.

He was quickly pulled into a crushing kiss and it was clear that he’d said the right thing. “I like the sound of that,” Mycroft told him.

Suddenly arms were around him and Sherlock was being lifted, carried through to the other bedroom and then set gently on the bed. He laughed, the joy that he’d thought he’d lost only half an hour ago returning in force. He kept his arms linked around his vampire’s neck and pulled him down for another kiss. It quickly deepened, both brothers overcome with the need of proof that things were still alright between them. “Change of plans?” he asked in a breathy voice.

Mycroft nodded, quickly stripping off Sherlock’s shirt. “Change of plans,” he confirmed and then moved downwards to unfasten Sherlock’s trousers as well.


	14. An Ending And A Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actualy two chapters rolled into one, or more specifically the final chapter and an epilogue of sorts.

Monday arrived and Sherlock was back at uni. He’d not wanted to return, had argued long and loud about the fruitlessness of it, but Mycroft had been insistent. If they were to have a relationship it would not impact on his education or future career. So he dutifully attended his lectures, finished an assignment, and then returned to his brother’s house. As soon as he’d assured Mycroft that his work was done, they’d fallen into bed together and not left for the rest of the night. The younger man had yawned through most of his classes on Tuesday but since he did that most days anyway, nothing had really changed. Well, except for the fact that he yawned due to exhaustion from staying up half the night to make love to his vampire brother, and not just from boredom.

Sherlock hurried from the tube station on Wednesday afternoon, wanting to get back to Mycroft’s house as soon as possible. He’d had to drop by his room to pick up a few supplies he’d needed and it had taken him fifteen minutes to get his roommate to stop clinging to him so he could make his escape. He had never given Zane any reason to think that his affections were returned but that didn’t seem to stop the man from trying. It was frustrating for the young genius and his responses to the fawning attempts at conversation tended to fall on the rude and caustic side. No matter how nasty he got, it just didn’t seem to penetrate through Zane’s infatuation. His roommate hadn’t as yet seemed to have made the connection that Mycroft was Sherlock’s brother but even the assumption (however unwittingly correct it was) that he was taken wasn’t keeping his interest at bay. If he didn’t get the message soon that it was a lost cause, Sherlock was sure he’d have to physically shake the man and scream that he wasn’t ever going to reciprocate.

When he’d finally manage to escape, he’d missed the first train and had had to wait for the next one. His long legs had bobbed and twitched the whole time, unable to remain still. He just wanted to get back to his brother, to spend more time getting to know him again. They had missed out on so much together and the past week had been spent mostly dealing with the change to his species, but now they could actually concentrate on relearning each other. He was sure Mycroft was just as anxious for Sherlock to be home as well. Not only had it stung, being told to remain at home until the following week (especially after he had been so certain that he’d easily convince the vampire who had conducted his examination) but it was obvious he was still feeling guilty over their fight on Sunday. They’d done their best to avoid the touchy subject of Changing Sherlock, but it was still close to the surface for both of them. Both thought they were right, and that the other was being too stubborn for their own good, but they also knew that another argument so soon after the last one would just cause more hurt and anguish. Neither liked to stick their heads in the sand, but it did seem to be the only option for now. At some point the time would be right to revisit the debate, for Sherlock to convince Mycroft to do what he wanted, but for now he would just try and be patient.

Another reason why Sherlock wanted to get home so badly was that he was still uneasy about the men he’d seen watching the house. Hagen had been keeping an eye on things but as yet hadn’t been able to verify who they were. He’d managed to get a photo of them but they weren’t in any facial recognition database, they weren’t known to any of their team, and the plates for the cars they drove were all stolen. The fact that they were simply watching and not making a move against Mycroft had thrown the older vampire for a loop. If they were enemies, why hadn’t they attacked as yet? If they were allies, why hadn’t they approached through the official channels? If they were friends, why were they acting so suspiciously? He’d assured Sherlock that if he’d not found any answers by sun down tomorrow he would bring a team and confront them. If it were up to the young genius, they would already have done that, but Hagen had to follow their superior’s orders. He was due to pop around tonight to check in on Mycroft again so at least the youngest holmes brother would be able to quietly ask if he was getting anywhere.

The train came and he hopped on, not bothering to find a seat since he was only off at the next stop. When the doors opened he slipped through the throng of people waiting to get on and hurried up the stairs and out of the station. The closer he got to Mycroft’s house the happier he became, a spring in his step and a smile on his lips. When he automatically scanned the street and didn’t see the familiar car sitting opposite, his smile turned into a grin. Perhaps Hagen had managed to sort the issue out anyway. He opened the gate just as a van pulled up and he recognised the nondescript vehicle that delivered the blood. Mycroft had been dutifully ingesting a high amount of the fluid to assist the completion of The Change and was having a delivery every second day now. He greeted the delivery vampires cheerfully and hurried to the door to hold it open for them. “Come in, come in,” he said, gesturing them inside.

“Thanks _so_ much,” the first vampire said, entering the house and looking around. “Where would you like this?” he asked, hefting the heavy crate in his arms. It looked like Mycroft had increased his order.

“Just through to the kitchen,” Sherlock said, gesturing vaguely, looking about for his brother. He smiled as he saw Mycroft coming down the stairs but it faltered at the look of confusion on his brother’s face.

“What’s going on, Lock?” the new vampire asked.

“Your delivery is here,” he said. ‘I’ve just told them to pop it in the kitchen.”

“My delivery already came this morning,” he replied slowly, then his eyes went wide.

The vampire heading towards the back of the house dropped the crate and spun around so he was facing Sherlock, and when the young genius twisted to see where the other one was his heart stopped as he saw he was at the door, inviting in another three vampires. “We appreciate the invitation,” the one behind Sherlock said, laughing. “You’ve made it so easy for us.”

“Sherlock, run!” Mycroft called, though it was clear almost immediately that the young man had nowhere to run _to_. He was boxed in and swallowed hard as one of the vampires at the front door started stalking towards him, herding him towards the first. The other three peeled away, heading for the stairs to prevent Mycroft from coming to his brother’s rescue. Sherlock ducked and darted to the right, trying to dodge under the arm of his attacker, but the vampire was much faster than him and he swept Sherlock into his arms, twisting him so he was pinned with his back against the cold chest. They were now turned towards the kitchen and he lost sight of his brother. He could hear noises of a fight but it soon faded to the background as his own predicament sank in.

The first vampire grinned as he sauntered forward, his head cocked to one side as if he were examining an insect. “Aren’t you a pretty one,” he said, reaching out and running a finger gently down Sherlock’s cheek. “It’s always so satisfying to break the pretty ones.” One of his hands whipped out and slapped him sharply across the face, causing Sherlock to cry out as his head was thrown back. There was a sting as well, one of the vampire’s long nails scratching his cheek. The creature’s nostrils flared as he smelled the blood and he absently licked his lips. “You smell as pretty as you look.”

Sherlock tried to lean away from him, but was held steady where he was by the vampire holding him. He couldn’t avoid it as the first vampire took hold of his face and licked a deliberate stripe up his cheek, pressing his tongue firmly into the scratch, causing it to flare in pain.

“Mmmm, _delicious_. It will be such a pity to extinguish your life.”

“Fuck you!” he cried, spitting at the creature.

The vampire wiped the spittle from his chin and grinned, his teeth pink from the blood. “Feisty as well. You _are_ a treat.” He slammed his fist into Sherlock’s stomach, doubling him over as his breath was forced from his lungs. The vampire holding him allowed him to slump forward, knowing escape was futile. After a long moment, in which the young genius fought to get air back into his burning lungs, he was wrenched upright only to have the first vampire step into his personal space and lean close to his ear. “What will it take to make you scream for me, pretty one? I _do_ like it when they scream. I’m willing to bet you’ll make the loveliest of noises.” He wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s chest and spun him so he was now pinned to his chest instead of the other’s, and he directed the human’s gaze to the fight occurring on the stairs. Mycroft was holding his own but in the limited space he was unable to get the upper hand. “Or perhaps I’ll make you watch while we make him scream instead? It won’t take long before we overpower him and then we’ll make him pay for what he’s done to our kind during his service for our enemy. Once he has suffered we may allow him the opportunity to join us - we always need more members to join our ranks.” He paused and Sherlock could feel him cock his head again, as if an idea had just occurred to him. “I already know he will refuse to do so but perhaps we can recruit another.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but then he felt fangs graze his neck. He gasped, trying to shrink away, not wanting anyone to bite him but Mycroft. His brother must have heard the noise he made as, even in the middle of fighting off an attack, he turned his head to seek out his brother. His eyes went wide as he saw the vampire hunched over his lover and he screamed. “ _No! Don’t fucking touch him!”_

The vampire holding Sherlock laughed, low and deadly. He didn’t bother with a witty retort, or a scathing reply, he just closed the last inch between them and sank his fangs deep into Sherlock’s throat. It hurt. Why was there so much pain? When Mycroft had bitten him the first time they’d slept together it had felt odd, and a little uncomfortable, but it hadn’t hurt. This seemed to almost burn. _Mycroft_. His eyes snapped over to his brother and he could only watch as Mycroft snarled and threw himself at the vampires attacking him, trying to get to his younger brother. The fourth vampire had left Sherlock alone with the first and had gone to join in the fight and it seemed that they would overwhelm the eldest Holmes. All seemed lost, but there was nothing Sherlock could do but watch and hurt.

The door flew open and then Hagen was there. The big blond growled as he took in the scene and he rushed forwards to help his colleague. Two of their attackers turned their attention to him but Sherlock didn’t see what happened next. His vision started to turn dark, the vampire holding him not only content to bite but he was draining him as well. Sherlock clawed weakly at the hands wrapped around his chest, holding him upright but all strength was gone from him. He wished he could see Mycroft once more before he died but he couldn’t force his eyes to open. Instead he just pulled up a picture in his mind, allowed himself to see those blue eyes and the smile his brother had just for him one last time. And then his whole world went dark.

oOoOo

There were voices in the distance, and they seemed to be arguing. One was familiar, and one was not, and the other was one that Sherlock would recognise anywhere. He couldn’t make out all they were saying but odd words reached him. He heard his own name, and _treatment_ , and _injuries_ . The voice he didn’t recognise said something that sounded like _critical_ and then there was more arguing. He drifted for a while and then he focussed enough to hear a broken plea and his heart broke because such a beautiful voice shouldn’t be full of such pain.

“ _My_?” he whispered, wanting to reach out, to bring him some comfort, but unable to lift his arms.

“Lock? Are you awake?”

It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do, but Sherlock managed to open his eyes. He seemed to be in a hospital room with white walls and machines hooked up to him. His brother was sitting next to the bed, his cool hands grasping one of Sherlock’s, and he looked paler than ever. “What happened?” the patient managed to croak.

“Thanks to Hagen, we managed to kill them all, but it was too late. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop you from being hurt.” He looked away, his face anguished. ‘From being _bitten.”_

“s’alright,” Sherlock said, trying to shake his head but wincing as it sent a shockwave of pain through his skull.

“No, _it’s not_. I was supposed to keep you safe, to protect you, and all I did was put you in the path of danger. You could have been killed!”

“But I wasn’t.” He hated being so weak, of being unable to even sit up and embrace his brother, to assure him it would be okay, that he was okay.

“By the sheerest of luck.” Mycroft’s face was pinched into a grim line. He sighed deeply and then gave a brief smile, continuing in a gentle voice. “They have to wait before they can administer the treatment - you’re too weak at the moment and they were worried it would be too much of a strain on your body, that it might kill you. There’s a time frame though in which is has to be given, before it’s too late, but they’ll wait as long as possible to make it as safe as possible.”

“Treatment?” he asked, his brain still sluggish. Then it hit him. The treatment that would stop him from undergoing The Change. “ _No!_ ” he cried, struggling to sit up.

Mycroft easily held him down. “Lock, settle - you’ll hurt yourself.”

“No, let me up. I don’t want the treatment, My! Please don’t give it to me, please!”

“Lock, please trust me, you don’t _want_ this!”

“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want!” His voice was getting stronger as adrenaline flooded his system. “It’s my choice and I’m choosing _not_ to be given the treatment!”

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!”

“Yes, I do! I’m giving myself more time with you, I’m giving _us_ more time!”

Mycroft lifted a pale hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that simple, Lock.”

“Nothing ever is! I don’t care if it’s complicated, or dangerous, or crazy. This is the choice I have now and I choose _us_.”

The door to the room opened and Hagen and another man entered, and Sherlock recognised him as the doctor who had tended to his brother. “I see my patient is awake,” the doctor said, picking up the chart from the end of the bed.  

“How are you feeling?” Hagen asked, his eyes full of concern.

“Hagen, I’m trying to tell Mycroft that I don’t want the treatment. Please don’t make them give it to me,” he begged.

The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a pretty big decision, lad. Not something to make on a whim.”

“But I haven’t! I’ve been thinking about it ever since I found out about My.” He gave the man as pointed a look as he could manage, trying to communicate silently so he didn’t give away the true nature of his relationship with his brother to the doctor. “This is something I want.”

Hagen regarded him for a long moment, and then gave a short nod of his head. “Alright.”

“You can’t be serious!” Mycroft exclaimed, standing up to face his colleague.

“It’s his choice, Holmes. We have to respect that.”

“I will _not_ allow my brother to become one of us! I don’t want him to have to be part of this fight.”

“Seems we don’t have much choice. He’s awake and lucid and would need to give his consent to be administered the treatment. Without that we can’t give it to him, isn’t that right, doctor?”

The man nodded. “Quite correct. If my patient does not wish to be given the treatment, we can’t force him.”

Mycroft huffed and ran a hand through his hair. He took a deep, unneeded breath and let it out slowly. “Can you please just give me a minute alone with my brother?”

“Of course, we’ll be right outside,” the doctor said. Hagen nodded and followed him out.

Mycroft slumped down into the chair and fixed Sherlock with an intense gaze. “Lock, there’s no going back from this. Once it’s done, it’s done. You’ll Change and will be forced into living with the consequences. You’ll need to drink blood, you’ll be exposed to danger and a war that until a week ago, you didn’t know existed. You’ll need to keep your nature a secret from the world until the time we can reveal ourselves. Once we do that, we’ll probably be shunned and feared. Even though we’ve fought for humanity, they may never accept us. Is this something you’re willing to do?”

He nodded and reached out and took his hand. “I’ll be with you and that’s the most important thing. We’ll have more time together.”

His brother clenched his jaw. “And what happens if I fall in battle? If I die next week, you’ll have an extended life _without_ me.”

Sherlock swallowed hard, not even wanting to think about such a thing but knowing he must. “Then I’ll fight to avenge you. But I’ll go on, because I know that you would want me to.”

The fight seemed to go out of Mycroft. He sighed and then leaned forward until his forehead was resting on their joined hands. “Very well. But if you come to regret this decision, I will _not_ put up with you whining about it for the next two centuries.”

“I won’t, I swear.”

“Because I _will_ gag you.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Is that a promise?”

Despite himself, Mycroft laughed. He sat back up and pulled their clasped hands to his lips, brushing a kiss to his brother’s knuckles. “You are incorrigible.”

“But you love me, right?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“Forever?”

“Up until the darkness takes me.”

Sherlock smiled, and closed his eyes, happiness washing over him. He would train and learn to fight, to protect Mycroft, so that they would have an eternity to walk side by side. He had won the first battle, he had gotten his extra years. Now he just had to keep them.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end :) What started as an idea for a short one shot about Vampire!Mycroft turned into this rather lengthy story. Thanks to the few of you who have been following along, I do hope you enjoyed the tale :)


End file.
